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THE   BOOK   OF  SAINTS  AND 
FRIENDLY    BEASTS 


ST.  BRIDGET  &  THE  KING'S  WOLF 


>  THE  BOOK  OF  SAINTS 
AND  FRIENDLY  BEASTS 
BY  ABBIE  FARWELL 
BROWN.  ILLUSTRATED 
BY  FANNY  Y.  CORY  *  > 


HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK    1900 


COPYRIGHT    I9OO  BY  ABBIE  FARWELL  BROWN.     ALL  RIGHTS 
RESERVED 


IN   LOVING   MEMORY   OF  A 
FRIENDLY   BEAST 


2209318 


BROTHER,  HAST  THOU  NEVER  LEARNED  IN 
HOLY  WRIT,  THAT  WITH  HIM  WHO  HAS 
LED  HIS    LIFE    AFTER    GOD's    WILL    THE  WILD 
BEASTS  AND  WILD  BIRDS  ARE  TAME  ? 

SAINT  GUTHLAC  OF  CROWLAND 


IN  the  old  legends  there  may  be  things 
which  some  folk  nowadays  find  it  hard 
to  believe.  But  surely  the  theme  of 
each  is  true.  It  is  not  hard  to  see  how 
gentle  bodies  who  had  no  other  friends  should 
make  comrades  of  the  little  folk  in  fur  and 
fins  and  feathers.  For,  as  St.  Francis 
knew  so  well,  all  the  creatures  are  our  little 
brothers,  ready  to  meet  halfway  those  who 
will  but  try  to  understand.  And  this  is  a 
truth  which  every  one  to-day,  even  M  he 
be  no  Saint,  is  waking  up  to  learn.  'The 
happenings  are  set  down  quite  as  they  read 
in  the  old  books.  Veritable  histories,  like 
those  of  St.  Francis  and  St.  Cuthbert,  ask 
no  addition  of  color  to  make  them  real.  But 
sometimes,  when  a  mere  line  of  legend  re- 
mained to  hint  of  some  dear  Sainfs  relation 
with  his  friendly  Beast,  the  story  has  been 
filled  out  in  the  way  that  seemed  most  likely 
to  be  true.  For  so  alone  could  the  old  tale 
be  made  alive  again.  So  all  one's  best  is 
dressing  old  words  new. 


CONTENTS    *    *   * 

PAGE 

Saint  Bridget  and  the  King's  Wolf  i 

Saint  Gerasimus  and  the  Lion  1 1 

Saint  Keneth  of  the  Gulls  30 

Saint  Launomar's  Cow  42 

Saint  Werburgh  and  her  Goose  53 

The  Ballad  of  Saint  Athracta's  Stags  69 

Saint  Kentigern  and  the  Robin  77 

Saint  Blaise  and  his  Beasts  88 

Saint  Cuthbert's  Peace  95 

The  Ballad  of  Saint  Felix  108 

Saint  Fronto's  Camels  114 

The  Blind  Singer,  Saint  Herve  126 

Saint  Comgall  and  the  Mice  148 

The  Wonders  of  Saint  Berach  156 

Saint  Prisca,  the  Child  Martyr  166 

The  Fish  who  helped  Saint  Gudwall  176 
The  Ballad  of  Saint  Giles  and  the  Deer    1 83 

The  Wolf-Mother  of  Saint  Ailbe  1 90 


Saint  Rigobert's  Dinner  1 99 

Saint  Francis  of  Assist  211 

A  Calendar  of  Saints'  Days  226 

The  legend  of  Saint  Fronto's  Camels    originally 
appeared  in  The  Churchman. 


THE   BOOK   OF  SAINTS  AND 
FRIENDLY    BEASTS 


SAINT  BRIDGET  AND 
THE  KING'S  WOLF  *  * 

EVERY  one  has  heard  of  Bridget,  the 
little  girl  saint  of  Ireland.    Her  name 
is  almost  as  well  known  as  that  of 
Saint  Patrick,  who  drove  all  the  snakes  from 
the  Island.    Saint  Bridget  had  long  golden 
hair;   and   she   was   very   beautiful.    Many 
wonderful  things  happened  to  her  that  are 
written  in  famous  books.    But  I  suspect  that 
you  never  heard  what  she  did  about   the 
King's  Wolf.    It  is  a  queer  story. 

This  is  how  it  happened.  The  King  of 
Ireland  had  a  tame  wolf  which  some  hunters 
had  caught  for  him  when  it  was  a  wee  baby. 
And  this  wolf  ran  around  as  it  pleased  in  the 
King's  park  near  the  palace,  and  had  a  very 
good  time.  But  one  morning  he  got  over 
the  high  wall  which  surrounded  the  park, 
and  strayed  a  long  distance  from  home,  which 
was  a  foolish  thing  to  do.  For  in  those  days 
wild  wolves  were  hated  and  feared  by  the 
people,  whose  cattle  they  often  stole;  and  if 
a  man  could  kill  a  wicked  wolf  he  thought 
himself  a  very  smart  fellow  indeed.  More- 


2  SAINT   BRIDGET  AND 

over,  the  King  himself  had  offered  a  prize  to 
any  man  who  should  bring  him  a  dead  wolf. 
For  he  wanted  his  kingdom  to  be  a  peaceful, 
happy  one,  where  the  children  could  play  in 
the  woods  all  day  without  fear  of  big  eyes  or 
big  teeth. 

Of  course  you  can  guess  what  happened 
to  the  King's  wolf?  A  big,  silly  country 
fellow  was  going  along  with  his  bow  and 
arrows,  when  he  saw  a  great  brown  beast 
leap  over  a  hedge  and  dash  into  the  meadow 
beyond.  It  was  only  the  King's  wolf  running 
away  from  home  and  feeling  very  frisky  be- 
cause it  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  done 
such  a  thing.  But  the  country  fellow  did  not 
know  all  that. 

"Aha!"  he  said  to  himself.  "I'll  soon 
have  you,  my  fine  wolf;  and  the  King  will 
give  me  a  gold  piece  that  will  buy  me  a  hat 
and  a  new  suit  of  clothes  for  the  holidays." 
And  without  stopping  to  think  about  it  or 
to  look  closely  at  the  wol£  who  had  the 
King's  mark  upon  his  ear,  the  fellow  shot  his 
arrow  straight  as  a  string.  The  King's  wolf 
gave  one  great  leap  into  the  air  and  then  fell 
dead  on  the  grass,  poor  fellow. 


THE  KING'S   WOLF  3 

The  countryman  was  much  pleased.  He 
dragged  his  prize  straight  up  to  the  King's 
palace  and  thumped  on  the  gate. 

"  Open ! "  he  cried.  "  Open  to  the  valiant 
hunter  who  has  shot  a  wolf  for  the  King. 
Open,  that  I  may  go  in  to  receive  the  re- 
ward." 

So,  very  respectfully,  they  bade  him  enter; 
and  the  Lord  Chamberlain  escorted  him  be- 
fore the  King  himself  who  sat  on  a  great  red- 
velvet  throne  in  the  Hall.  In  came  the  fellow, 
dragging  after  him  by  the  tail  the  limp  body 
of  the  King's  wolf. 

"What  have  we  here?"  growled  the 
King,  as  the  Lord  Chamberlain  made  a  low 
bow  and  pointed  with  his  staff  to  the  stranger. 
The  King  had  a  bad  temper  and  did  not  like 
to  receive  callers  in  the  morning.  But  the 
silly  countryman  was  too  vain  of  his  great 
deed  to  notice  the  King's  disagreeable  frown. 

"You  have  here  a  wolf,  Sire,"  he  said 
proudly.  "  I  have  shot  for  you  a  wolf,  and  I 
come  to  claim  the  promised  reward." 

But  at  this  unlucky  moment  the  King 
started  up  with  an  angry  cry.  He  had  noticed 
his  mark  on  the  wolf's  right  ear. 


4  SAINT   BRIDGET   AND 

"  Ho !  Seize  the  villain ! "  he  shouted  to 
his  soldiers.  "  He  has  slain  my  tame  wolf; 
he  has  shot  my  pet!  Away  with  him  to 
prison;  and  to-morrow  he  dies." 

It  was  useless  for  the  poor  man  to  scream 
and  cry  and  try  to  explain  that  it  was  all  a 
mistake.  The  King  was  furious.  His  wolf 
was  killed,  and  the  murderer  must  die. 

In  those  days  this  was  the  way  kings 
punished  men  who  displeased  them  in  any 
way.  There  were  no  delays ;  things  happened 
very  quickly.  So  they  dragged  the  poor  fel- 
low off  to  a  dark,  damp  dungeon  and  left  him 
there  howling  and  tearing  his  hair,  wishing 
that  wolves  had  never  been  saved  from  the 
flood  by  Noah  and  his  Ark. 

Now  not  far  from  this  place  little  Saint 
Bridget  lived.  When  she  chose  the  beautiful 
spot  for  her  home  there  were  no  houses  near, 
only  a  great  oak-tree,  under  which  she  built 
her  little  hut.  It  had  but  one  room  and  the 
roof  was  covered  with  grass  and  straw.  It 
seemed  almost  like  a  doll's  playhouse,  it  was 
so  small ;  and  Bridget  herself  was  like  a  big, 
golden-haired  wax  doll,  —  the  prettiest  doll 
you  ever  saw. 


THE  KING'S   WOLF  5 

She  was  so  beautiful  and  so  good  that 
people  wanted  to  live  near  her,  where  they 
could  see  her  sweet  face  often  and  hear  her 
voice.  When  they  found  where  she  had 
built  her  cell,  men  came  flocking  from  all 
the  country  round  about  with  their  wives 
and  children  and  their  household  goods,  their 
cows  and  pigs  and  chickens;  and  camping 
on  the  green  grass  under  the  great  oak-tree 
they  said,  "We  will  live  here,  too,  where 
Saint  Bridget  is." 

So  house  after  house  was  built,  and  a  vil- 
lage grew  up  about  her  little  cell;  and  for  a 
name  it  had  Kildare,  which  in  Irish  means 
"  Cell  of  the  Oak."  Soon  Kildare  became  so 
fashionable  that  even  the  King  must  have  a 
palace  and  a  park  there.  And  it  was  in  this 
park  that  the  King's  wolf  had  been  killed. 

Now  Bridget  knew  the  man  who  had 
shot  the  wolf,  and  when  she  heard  into  what 
terrible  trouble  he  had  fallen  she  was  very 
sorry,  for  she  was  a  kind-hearted  little  girl. 
She  knew  he  was  a  silly  fellow  to  shoot  the 
tame  wolf;  but  still  it  was  all  a  mistake,  and 
she  thought  he  ought  not  to  be  punished  so 
severely.  She  wished  that  she  could  do  some- 


6          SAINT  BRIDGET  AND 

thing  to  help  him,  to  save  him  if  possible. 
But  this  seemed  difficult,  for  she  knew  what 
a  bad  temper  the  King  had;  and  she  also 
knew  how  proud  he  had  been  of  that  wol£ 
who  was  the  only  tame  one  in  all  the  land. 

Bridget  called  for  her  coachman  with  her 
chariot  and  pair  of  white  horses,  and  started 
for  the  King's  palace,  wondering  what  she 
should  do  to  satisfy  the  King  and  make  him 
release  the  man  who  had  meant  to  do  no 
harm. 

But  lo  and  behold !  as  the  horses  galloped 
along  over  the  Irish  bogs  of  peat,  Saint  Brid- 
get saw  a  great  white  shape  racing  towards 
her.  At  first  she  thought  it  was  a  dog.  But 
no:  no  dog  was  as  large  as  that.  She  soon 
saw  that  it  was  a  wolf,  with  big  eyes  and 
with  a  red  tongue  lolling  out  of  his  mouth. 
At  last  he  overtook  the  frightened  horses, 
and  with  a  flying  leap  came  plump  into  the 
chariot  where  Bridget  sat,  and  crouched  at 
her  feet,  quietly  as  a  dog  would.  He  was  no 
tame  wolf,  but  a  wild  one,  who  had  never 
before  felt  a  human  being's  hand  upon  him. 
Yet  he  let  Bridget  pat  and  stroke  him,  and 
say  nice  things  into  his  great  ear.  And  he 


THE  KING'S  WOLF  7 

kept  perfectly  still  by  her  side  until  the  char- 
iot rumbled  up  to  the  gate  of  the  palace. 

Then  Bridget  held  out  her  hand  and  called 
to  him ;  and  the  great  white  beast  followed 
her  quietly  through  the  gate  and  up  the  stair 
and  down  the  long  hall,  until  they  stood  be- 
fore the  red-velvet  throne,  where  the  King  sat 
looking  stern  and  sulky. 

They  must  have  been  a  strange-looking 
pair,  the  little  maiden  in  her  green  gown  with 
her  golden  hair  falling  like  a  shower  down  to 
her  knees;  and  the  huge  white  wolf  standing 
up  almost  as  tall  as  she,  his  yellow  eyes  glar- 
ing fiercely  about,  and  his  red  tongue  panting. 
Bridget  laid  her  hand  gently  on  the  beast's 
head  which  was  close  to  her  shoulder,  and 
bowed  to  the  King.  The  King  only  sat  and 
stared,  he  was  so  surprised  at  the  sight ;  but 
Bridget  took  that  as  a  permission  to  speak. 

"  You  have  lost  your  tame  wolf,  O  King," 
she  said.  "  But  I  have  brought  you  a  better. 
There  is  no  other  tame  wolf  in  all  the  land, 
now  yours  is  dead.  But  look  at  this  one ! 
There  is  no  white  wolf  to  be  found  anywhere, 
and  he  is  both  tame  and  white.  I  have  tamed 
him,  my  King.  I,  a  little  maiden,  have  tamed 


8  SAINT   BRIDGET   AND 

him  so  that  he  is  gentle  as  you  see.  Look,  I 
can  pull  his  big  ears  and  he  will  not  snarl. 
Look,  I  can  put  my  little  hand  into  his  great 
red  mouth,  and  he  will  not  bite.  Sire,  I  give 
him  to  you.  Spare  me  then  the  life  of  the 
poor,  silly  man  who  unwittingly  killed  your 
beast.  Give  his  stupid  life  to  me  in  exchange 
for  this  dear,  amiable  wolf,"  and  she  smiled 
pleadingly. 

The  King  sat  staring  first  at  the  great 
white  beast,  wonderfully  pleased  with  the 
look  of  him,  then  at  the  beautiful  maiden 
whose  blue  eyes  looked  so  wistfully  at  him. 
And  he  was  wonderfully  pleased  with  the  look 
of  them,  too.  Then  he  bade  her  tell  him  the 
whole  story,  how  she  had  come  by  the  crea- 
ture, and  when,  and  where.  Now  when  she 
had  finished  he  first  whistled  in  surprise,  then 
he  laughed.  That  was  a  good  sign.  —  he 
was  wonderfully  pleased  with  Saint  Bridget's 
story,  also.  It  was  so  strange  a  thing  for  the 
King  to  laugh  in  the  morning  that  the  Cham- 
berlain nearly  fainted  from  surprise;  and 
Bridget  felt  sure  that  she  had  won  her  prayer. 
Never  had  the  King  been  seen  in  such  a 
good  humor.  For  he  was  a  vain  man,  and  it 


THE  KING'S   WOLF  9 

pleased  him  mightily  to  think  of  owning  all 
for  himself  this  huge  beast,  whose  like  was 
not  in  all  the  land,  and  whose  story  was  so 
marvelous. 

And  when  Bridget  looked  at  him  so  be- 
seechingly, he  could  not  refuse  those  sweet 
blue  eyes  the  request  which  they  made,  for 
fear  of  seeing  them  fill  with  tears.  So,  as 
Bridget  begged,  he  pardoned  the  country- 
man, and  gave  his  life  to  Bridget,  ordering 
his  soldiers  to  set  him  free  from  prison.  Then 
when  she  had  thanked  the  King  very  sweetly, 
she  bade  the  wolf  lie  down  beside  the  red- 
velvet  throne,  and  thenceforth  be  faithful  and 
kind  to  his  new  master.  And  with  one  last 
pat  upon  his  shaggy  head,  she  left  the  wolf 
and  hurried  out  to  take  away  the  silly  coun- 
tryman in  her  chariot,  before  the  King  should 
have  time  to  change  his  mind. 

The  man  was  very  happy  and  grateful. 
But  she  gave  him  a  stern  lecture  on  the  way 
home,  advising  him  not  to  be  so  hasty  and  so 
wasty  next  time. 

"  Sirrah  Stupid,"  she  said  as  she  set  him 
down  by  his  cottage  gate,  "  better  not  kill  at 
all  than  take  the  lives  of  poor  tame  creatures. 


io  SAINT  BRIDGET 

I  have  saved  your  life  this  once,  but  next 
time  you  will  have  to  suffer.  Remember,  it 
is  better  that  two  wicked  wolves  escape  than 
that  one  kind  beast  be  killed.  We  cannot 
afford  to  lose  our  friendly  beasts,  Master 
Stupid.  We  can  better  afford  to  lose  a  blun- 
dering fellow  like  you."  And  she  drove  away 
to  her  cell  under  the  oak,  leaving  the  silly  man 
to  think  over  what  she  had  said,  and  to  feel 
much  ashamed. 

But  the  King's  new  wolf  lived  happily 
ever  after  in  the  palace  park;  and  Bridget 
came  often  to  see  him,  so  that  he  had  no 
time  to  grow  homesick  or  lonesome. 


SAINT  GERASIMUS  AND 
THE  LION  ****** 
i. 

ONE   fine  morning  Saint  Gerasimus 
was  walking  briskly  along  the  bank 
of  the  River  Jordan.   By  his  side 
plodded  a  little  donkey  bearing  on  his  back 
an  earthen  jar ;  for  they  had  been  down  to  the 
river  together  to  get  water,  and  were  taking 
it  back  to  the  monastery  on  the  hill  for  the 
monks  to  drink  at  their  noonday  meal. 

Gerasimus  was  singing  merrily,  touching 
the  stupid  little  donkey  now  and  then  with 
a  twig  of  olive  leaves  to  keep  him  from  go- 
ing to  sleep.  This  was  in  the  far  East,  in  the 
Holy  Land,  so  the  sky  was  very  blue  and  the 
ground  smelled  hot.  Birds  were  singing 
around  them  in  the  trees  and  overhead,  all 
kinds  of  strange  and  beautiful  birds.  But 
suddenly  Gerasimus  heard  a  sound  unlike 
any  bird  he  had  ever  known ;  a  sound  which 
was  not  a  bird's  song  at  all,  unless  some 
newly  invented  kind  had  a  bass  voice  which 
ended  in  a  howl.  The  little  donkey  stopped 
suddenly,  and  bracing  his  fore  legs  and  cock- 


12  SAINT  GERASIMUS 

ing  forward  his  long,  flappy  ears,  looked  afraid 
and  foolish.  Gerasimus  stopped  too.  But  he 
was  so  wise  a  man  that  he  could  not  look  fool- 
ish. And  he  was  too  good  a  man  to  be  afraid 
of  anything.  Still,  he  was  a  little  surprised. 

"Dear  me,"  he  said  aloud,  "how  very 
strange  that  sounded.  What  do  you  suppose 
it  was  *?  "  Now  there  was  no  one  else  any- 
where near,  so  he  must  have  been  talking  to 
himself.  For  he  could  never  have  expected 
that  donkey  to  know  anything  about  it.  But 
the  donkey  thought  he  was  being  spoken  to, 
so  he  wagged  his  head,  and  said,  "  He-haw ! " 
which  was  a  very  silly  answer  indeed,  and  did 
not  help  Gerasimus  at  all. 

He  seized  the  donkey  by  the  halter  and 
waited  to  see  what  would  happen.  He 
peered  up  and  down  and  around  and  about, 
but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  except  the 
shining  river,  the  yellow  sand,  a  clump  of 
bushes  beside  the  road,  and  the  spire  of  the 
monastery  peeping  over  the  top  of  the  hill 
beyond.  He  was  about  to  start  the  donkey 
once  more  on  his  climb  towards  home,  when 
that  sound  came  again;  and  this  time  he 
noticed  that  it  was  a  sad  sound,  a  sort  of 


AND  THE  LION  13 

whining  growl  ending  in  a  sob.  It  sounded 
nearer  than  before,  and  seemed  to  come  from 
the  clump  of  bushes.  Gerasimus  and  the 
donkey  turned  their  heads  quickly  in  that 
direction,  and  the  donkey  trembled  all  over, 
he  was  so  frightened.  But  his  master  only 
said,  "  It  must  be  a  Lion  ! " 

And  sure  enough :  he  had  hardly  spoken 
the  word  when  out  of  the  bushes  came  pok- 
ing the  great  head  and  yellow  eyes  of  a  lion. 
He  was  looking  straight  at  Gerasimus.  Then, 
giving  that  cry  again,  he  bounded  out  and 
strode  towards  the  good  man,  who  was  hold- 
ing the  donkey  tight  to  keep  him  from  run- 
ning away.  He  was  the  biggest  kind  of  a 
lion,  much  bigger  than  the  donkey,  and  his 
mane  was  long  and  thick,  and  his  tail  had  a 
yellow  brush  on  the  end  as  large  as  a  win- 
dow mop.  But  as  he  came  Gerasimus  noticed 
that  he  limped  as  if  he  were  lame.  At  once 
the  Saint  was  filled  with  pity,  for  he  could  not 
bear  to  see  any  creature  suffer.  And  without 
any  thought  of  fear,  he  went  forward  to  meet 
the  lion.  Instead  of  pouncing  upon  him 
fiercely,  or  snarling,  or  making  ready  to  eat 
him  up,  the  lion  crouched  whining  at  his  feet 


14  SAINT  GERASIMUS 

"  Poor  fellow,"  said  Gerasimus,  "  what 
hurts  you  and  makes  you  lame,  brother 
Lion?" 

The  lion  shook  his  yellow  mane  and 
roared.  But  his  eyes  were  not  fierce;  they 
were  only  full  of  pain  as  they  looked  up  into 
those  of  Gerasimus  asking  for  help.  And 
then  he  held  up  his  right  fore  paw  and  shook 
it  to  show  that  this  was  where  the  trouble 
lay.  Gerasimus  looked  at  him  kindly. 

"  Lie  down,  sir,"  he  said  just  as  one  would 
speak  to  a  big  yellow  dog.  And  obediently 
the  lion  charged.  Then  the  good  man  bent 
over  him,  and  taking  the  great  paw  in  his 
hand  examined  it  carefully.  In  the  soft 
cushion  of  the  paw  a  long  pointed  thorn 
was  piercing  so  deeply  that  he  could  hardly 
find  the  end.  No  wonder  the  poor  lion  had 
roared  with  pain !  Gerasimus  pulled  out  the 
thorn  as  gently  as  he  could,  and  though  it 
must  have  hurt  the  lion  badly  he  did  not 
make  a  sound,  but  lay  still  as  he  had  been 
told.  And  when  the  thorn  was  taken  out  the 
lion  licked  Gerasimus'  hand,  and  looked  up 
in  his  face  as  if  he  would  say,  "  Thank  you, 
kind  man.  I  shall  not  forget." 


AND   THE   LION  15 

Now  when  the  Saint  had  finished  this 
good  deed  he  went  back  to  his  donkey  and 
started  on  towards  the  monastery.  But  hear- 
ing the  soft  pad  of  steps  behind  him  he  turned 
and  saw  that  the  great  yellow  lion  was  fol- 
lowing close  at  his  heels.  At  first  he  was 
somewhat  embarrassed,  for  he  did  not  know 
how  the  other  monks  would  receive  this  big 
stranger.  But  it  did  not  seem  polite  or  kind 
to  drive  him  away,  especially  as  he  was  still 
somewhat  lame.  So  Gerasimus  took  up  his 
switch  of  olive  leaves  and  drove  the  donkey 
on  without  a  word,  thinking  that  perhaps  the 
lion  would  grow  tired  and  drop  behind.  But 
when  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  he  still 
saw  the  yellow  head  close  at  his  elbow;  and 
sometimes  he  felt  the  hot,  rough  tongue  lick- 
ing his  hand  that  hung  at  his  side. 

So  they  climbed  the  hill  to  the  monastery. 
Some  one  had  seen  Gerasimus  coming  with 
this  strange  attendant  at  his  heels,  and  the 
windows  and  doors  were  crowded  with  monks, 
their  mouths  and  eyes  wide  open  with  aston- 
ishment, peering  over  one  another's  shoulders. 
From  every  corner  of  the  monastery  they  had 
run  to  see  the  sight ;  but  they  were  all  on 


1 6  SAINT  GERASIMUS 

tiptoe  to  run  back  again  twice  as  quickly  if 
the  lion  should  roar  or  lash  his  tail.  Now 
although  Gerasimus  knew  that  the  house  was 
full  of  staring  eyes  expecting  every  minute 
to  see  him  eaten  up,  he  did  not  hurry  or 
worry  at  all.  Leisurely  he  unloaded  the  water- 
jar  and  put  the  donkey  in  his  stable,  the  lion 
following  him  everywhere  he  went.  When 
all  was  finished  he  turned  to  bid  the  beast 
good-by.  But  instead  of  taking  the  hint  and 
departing  as  he  was  expected  to,  the  lion 
crouched  at  Gerasimus'  feet  and  licked  his 
sandals ;  and  then  he  looked  up  in  the  Saint's 
face  and  pawed  at  his  coarse  gown  pleadingly, 
as  if  he  said,  "  Good  man,  I  love  you  be- 
cause you  took  the  thorn  out  of  my  foot. 
Let  me  stay  with  you  always  to  be  your 
watch-dog."  And  Gerasimus  understood. 

"  Well,  if  you  wish  to  stay  I  am  willing, 
so  long  as  you  are  good,"  he  said,  and  the 
lion  leaped  up  and  roared  with  joy  so  loudly 
that  all  the  monks  who  were  watching  tum- 
bled over  one  another  and  ran  away  to  their 
cells  in  a  terrible  fright,  locking  the  doors 
behind  them. 

Gerasimus  carried  the  water-jar  into  the 


AND  THE   LION  17 

empty  kitchen,  and  the  lion  followed.  After 
sniffing  about  the  place  to  get  acquainted, 
just  as  a  kitten  does  in  its  new  home,  the  lion 
lay  down  in  front  of  the  fire  and  curled  his 
head  up  on  his  paws,  like  the  great  big  cat 
he  was.  And  so  after  a  long  sigh  he  went  to 
sleep.  Then  Gerasimus  had  a  chance  to  tell 
the  other  monks  all  about  it.  At  first  they 
were  timid  and  would  not  hear  of  keeping 
such  a  dangerous  pet.  But  when  they  had 
all  tiptoed  down  to  the  kitchen  behind  Ge- 
rasimus and  had  seen  the  big  kitten  asleep 
there  so  peacefully  they  were  not  quite  so 
much  afraid. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  will  do,"  said  the 
Abbot.  "  If  Brother  Gerasimus  can  make  his 
friend  eat  porridge  and  herbs  like  the  rest  of 
us  we  will  let  him  join  our  number.  He 
might  be  very  useful,  —  as  well  as  ornamen- 
tal,—  in  keeping  away  burglars  and  mice. 
But  we  cannot  have  any  flesh-eating  creature 
among  us.  Some  of  us  are  too  fat  and  tempt- 
ing, I  fear,"  and  he  glanced  at  several  of  the 
roundest  monks,  who  shuddered  in  their  tight 
gowns.  But  the  Abbot  himself  was  the  fattest 
of  them  all,  and  he  spoke  with  feeling. 


1 8  SAINT   GERASIMUS 

So  it  was  decided.  Gerasimus  let  the  lion 
sleep  a  good  long  nap,  to  put  him  in  a  fine 
humor.  But  when  it  came  time  for  supper 
he  mixed  a  bowl  of  porridge  and  milk  and 
filled  a  big  wooden  platter  with  boiled  greens. 
Then  taking  one  dish  in  each  hand  he  went 
up  to  the  lion  and  set  them  in  front  of  his 
nose. 

"  Leo,  Leo,  Leo  !  "  he  called  coaxingly, 
just  as  a  little  girl  would  call  "Kitty,  Kitty, 
Kitty!"  to  her  pet.  The  lion  lifted  up  his 
head  and  purred,  like  a  small  furnace,  for  he 
recognized  his  friend's  voice.  But  when  he 
smelled  the  dishes  of  food  he  sniffed  and 
made  a  horrid  face,  wrinkling  up  his  nose 
and  saying  "  Ugh ! "  He  did  not  like  the 
stuff  at  all.  But  Gerasimus  patted  him  on 
the  head  and  said,  "  You  had  better  eat  it, 
Leo ;  it  is  all  I  have  myself.  Share  and  share 
alike,  brother." 

The  lion  looked  at  him  earnestly,  and 
then  dipped  his  nose  into  the  porridge  with 
a  grunt.  He  ate  it  all,  and  found  it  not  so 
very  bad.  So  next  he  tried  the  greens.  They 
were  a  poor  dessert,  he  thought;  but  since 
he  saw  that  Gerasimus  wanted  him  to  eat 


AND  THE  LION  19 

them  he  finished  the  dish,  and  then  lay  down 
on  the  hearth  feeling  very  tired. 

Gerasimus  was  delighted,  for  he  had  grown 
fond  of  the  lion  and  wanted  to  keep  him. 
So  he  hurried  back  to  the  dining  hall  and 
showed  the  empty  dishes  to  the  Abbot.  That 
settled  the  lion's  fate.  Thenceforth  he  became 
a  member  of  the  monastery.  He  ate  with  the 
other  monks  in  the  great  hall,  having  his  own 
private  trencher  and  bowl  beside  Gerasimus. 
And  he  grew  to  like  the  mild  fare  of  the 
good  brothers,  —  at  least  he  never  sought  for 
anything  different.  He  slept  outside  the  door 
of  his  master's  cell  and  guarded  the  monastery 
like  a  faithful  watch-dog.  The  monks  grew 
fond  of  him  and  petted  him  so  that  he  lived 
a  happy  life  on  the  hill,  with  never  a  wish  to 
go  back  to  the  desert  with  its  thorns. 


II. 

WHEREVER  Gerasimus  went  the 
lion  went  also.     Best  of  all,  Leo 
enjoyed  their  daily  duty  of  draw- 
ing water  from  the  river.   For  that  meant  a 
long  walk  in  the  open  air,  and  a  frolic  on  the 


20  SAINT  GERASIMUS 

bank  of  the  Jordan.  One  day  they  had  gone 
as  usual,  Gerasimus,  the  lion,  and  the  stupid 
donkey  who  was  carrying  the  filled  jar  on  his 
back.  They  were  jogging  comfortably  home, 
when  a  poor  man  came  running  out  of  a  tiny 
hut  near  the  river,  who  begged  Gerasimus  to 
come  with  him  and  try  to  cure  his  sick  baby. 
Of  course  the  good  man  willingly  agreed; 
this  was  one  of  the  errands  which  he  loved 
best  to  do. 

"  Stay,  brother,"  he  commanded  Leo,  who 
wanted  to  go  with  him,  "  stay  and  watch  the 
foolish  donkey."  And  he  went  with  the  man, 
feeling  sure  that  the  lion  would  be  faithful. 
Now  Leo  meant  to  do  his  duty,  but  it  was 
a  hot  and  sleepy  day,  and  he  was  very  tired. 
He  lay  down  beside  the  donkey  and  kept 
one  eye  upon  him,  closing  the  other  one  just 
for  a  minute.  But  this  is  a  dangerous  thing 
to  do.  Before  he  knew  it,  the  other  eye  be- 
gan to  wink;  and  the  next  moment  Leo 
was  sound  asleep,  snoring  with  his  head  on 
his  paws.  Then  it  was  that  the  silly  donkey 
began  to  grow  restless.  He  saw  a  patch 
of  grass  just  beyond  that  looked  tempting, 
and  he  moved  over  to  it  Then  he  saw  a 


AND  THE  LION  21 

greener  spot  beyond  that,  and  then  another 
still  farther  beyond  that,  till  he  had  taken  his 
silly  self  a  long  way  off.  And  just  then  there 
came  along  on  his  way  from  Dan  to  Beersheba, 
a  thief  of  a  Camel  Driver,  with  a  band  of 
horses  and  asses.  He  saw  the  donkey  grazing 
there  with  no  one  near,  and  he  said  to  him- 
self, — 

"Aha!  A  fine  little  donkey.  I  will  add 
him  to  my  caravan  and  no  one  will  be  the 
wiser."  And  seizing  Silly  by  the  halter,  he 
first  cut  away  the  water-jar,  and  then  rode  off 
with  him  as  fast  as  he  could  gallop. 

Now  the  sound  of  pattering  feet  wakened 
Leo.  He  jumped  up  with  a  roar  just  in  time 
to  see  the  Camel  Driver's  face  as  he  glanced 
back  from  the  top  of  the  next  hill.  Leo  ran 
wildly  about  sniffing  for  the  donkey;  but 
when  he  found  that  he  had  really  disappeared, 
he  knew  the  Camel  Driver  must  have  stolen 
him.  He  was  terribly  angry.  He  stood  by 
the  water-jar  and  roared  and  lashed  his  tail, 
gnashing  his  jaws  as  he  remembered  the  thief's 
wicked  face. 

Now  in  the  midst  of  his  rage  out  came 
Gerasimus.  He  found  Leo  roaring  and  foam- 


22  SAINT  GERASIMUS 

ing  at  the  mouth,  his  red-rimmed  eyes  looking 
very  fierce.  And  the  donkey  was  gone  — 
only  the  water-jar  lay  spilling  on  the  ground. 
Then  Gerasimus  made  a  great  mistake.  He 
thought  that  poor  Leo  had  grown  tired  of 
being  a  vegetarian,  of  living  upon  porridge 
and  greens,  and  had  tried  fresh  donkey-meat 
for  a  change. 

"  Oh,  you  wicked  lion !  "  he  cried,  "  you 
have  eaten  poor  Silly.  What  shall  I  do  to 
punish  you  ?  "  Then  Leo  roared  louder  than 
ever  with  shame  and  sorrow.  But  he  could 
not  speak  to  tell  how  it  had  happened.  The 
Saint  was  very  sad.  Tears  stood  in  his  kind 
eyes.  "  You  will  have  to  be  donkey  now," 
he  said ;  "  you  will  have  to  do  his  part  of  the 
work  since  he  is  now  a  part  of  you.  Come, 
stand  up  and  let  me  fasten  the  water-jar  upon 
your  back."  He  spoke  sternly  and  even 
switched  Leo  with  his  olive  stick.  Leo  had 
never  been  treated  like  this.  He  was  the  King 
of  Beasts,  and  it  was  shame  for  a  King  to  do 
donkey's  work.  His  eyes  flashed,  and  he  had 
half  a  mind  to  refuse  and  to  run  away.  Then 
he  looked  at  the  good  man  and  remembered 
how  he  had  taken  out  that  cruel  thorn.  So 


AND  THE   LION  23 

he  hung  his  head  and  stood  still  to  be  har- 
nessed in  the  donkey's  place. 

Slowly  and  painfully  Leo  carried  the 
water-jar  up  the  hill.  But  worse  than  all  it 
was  to  feel  that  his  dear  master  was  angry 
with  him.  Gerasimus  told  the  story  to  the 
other  monks,  and  they  were  even  more  angry 
than  he  had  been,  for  they  did  not  love  Leo 
so  well.  They  all  agreed  that  Leo  must  be 
punished ;  so  they  treated  him  exactly  as  if 
he  were  a  mean,  silly  donkey.  They  gave 
him  only  oats  and  water  to  eat,  and  made 
him  do  all  Silly's  work.  They  would  no 
longer  let  him  sleep  outside  his  master's  door, 
but  they  tied  him  in  a  lonesome  stall  in  the 
stable.  And  now  he  could  not  go  to  walk 
with  Gerasimus  free  and  happy  as  the  King 
of  Beasts  should  be.  For  he  went  only  in 
harness,  with  never  a  kind  word  from  his 
master's  lips. 

It  was  a  sad  time  for  Leo.  He  was  grow- 
ing thinner  and  thinner.  His  mane  was  rough 
and  tangled  because  he  had  no  heart  to  keep 
it  smooth.  And  there  were  several  white  hairs 
in  his  beautiful  whiskers.  He  was  fast  becom- 
ing melancholy ;  and  the  most  pitiful  beast 


24  SAINT  GERASIMUS 

in  all  the  world  is  a  melancholy  lion.  He 
had  been  hoping  that  something  would  hap- 
pen to  show  that  it  was  all  a  mistake ;  but  it 
seemed  as  through  the  world  was  against 
him,  and  truth  was  dead. 

It  was  a  sad  time  for  Gerasimus,  too ;  for 
he  still  loved  Leo,  though  he  knew  the  lion 
must  be  punished  for  the  dreadful  deed  which 
he  was  believed  to  have  done.  One  day  he 
had  to  go  some  distance  to  a  neighboring 
town  to  buy  provisions.  As  usual,  he  took 
Leo  with  him  to  bring  back  the  burden,  but 
they  did  not  speak  all  the  way.  Gerasimus 
had  done  the  errands  which  he  had  come  to 
do,  and  was  fastening  the  baskets  on  each 
side  of  the  lion's  back.  A  group  of  children 
were  standing  around  watching  the  queer 
sight,  —  a  lion  burdened  like  a  donkey !  And 
they  laughed  and  pointed  their  fingers  at  him, 
making  fun  of  poor  Leo. 

But  suddenly  the  lion  growled  and  began 
to  lash  his  tail,  quivering  like  a  cat  ready  to 
spring  on  a  mouse.  The  children  screamed 
and  ran  away,  thinking  that  he  was  angry 
with  them  for  teasing  him.  But  it  was  not 
that.  A  train  of  camels  was  passing  at  the 


AND  THE   LION  25 

moment,  and  Leo  had  seen  at  their  head  a 
mean,  wicked  face  which  he  remembered. 
And  as  the  last  of  the  caravan  went  by,  Leo 
caught  sight  of  Silly  himself,  the  missing 
donkey  of  the  monastery.  At  the  sound  of 
Leo's  growl,  Silly  pricked  up  his  ears  and 
stood  on  his  fore  legs,  which  is  not  a  graceful 
position  for  a  donkey.  Then  the  Camel  Driver 
came  running  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter 
with  his  stolen  donkey.  But  when  he  came 
face  to  face  with  Leo,  whose  yellow  eyes 
were  glaring  terribly,  the  thief  trembled  and 
turned  pale.  For  he  remembered  the  dread- 
ful roar  which  had  followed  him  that  day  as 
he  galloped  away  across  the  sand  holding 
Silly's  halter.  The  poor  donkey  was  quiver- 
ing with  fear,  thinking  that  this  time  he  was 
surely  going  to  be  eaten  piecemeal.  But  after 
all  this  trouble  on  Silly's  account,  the  very 
idea  of  tasting  donkey  made  Leo  sick.  He 
only  wanted  to  show  Gerasimus  what  a  mis- 
take had  been  made. 

All  this  time  Gerasimus  had  been  wonder- 
ing what  the  lion's  strange  behavior  meant. 
But  when  he  saw  Leo  seize  the  donkey's 
bridle,  he  began  to  suspect  the  truth.  He  ran 


26  SAINT  GERASIMUS 

up  and  examined  the  donkey  carefully.  Then 
Leo  looked  up  in  his  face  and  growled  softly, 
as  if  to  say :  — 

"  Here  is  your  old  donkey,  safe  and  sound. 
You  see  I  did  n't  eat  him  after  all.  That  is  the 
real  thief,"  and  turning  to  the  Camel  Driver, 
he  showed  his  teeth  and  looked  so  fierce  that 
the  man  hid  behind  a  camel,  crying,  "  Take 
away  the  lion !  Kill  the  wicked  lion ! "  But 
Gerasimus  seized  Silly  by  the  bridle. 

"  This  is  my  beast,"  he  said,  "  and  I  shall 
lead  him  home  with  me.  You  stole  him, 
Thief,  and  my  noble  lion  has  found  you  out," 
and  he  laid  his  hand  tenderly  on  Leo's  head. 

"  He  is  mine,  you  shall  not  have  him ! " 
cried  the  Camel  Driver,  dodging  out  from 
behind  the  camel,  and  trying  to  drag  the  don- 
key away  from  Gerasimus.  But  with  a  dread- 
ful roar,  Leo  sprang  upon  him,  and  with  his 
great  paw  knocked  him  down  and  sat  upon 
his  stomach. 

"  Do  not  hurt  him,  Leo,"  said  Gerasimus 
gently.  But  to  the  Camel  Driver  he  was  very 
stern.  "Look  out,  Sir  Thief,"  he  said,  "how 
you  steal  again  the  donkey  of  an  honest  man. 
Even  the  yellow  beasts  of  the  desert  know 


AND   THE   LION  27 

better  than  that,  and  will  make  you  ashamed. 
Be  thankful  that  you  escape  so  easily." 

Then  he  took  the  baskets  from  Leo's  back 
and  bound  them  upon  Silly,  who  was  glad 
to  receive  them  once  more  from  his  own 
master's  hands.  For  the  Camel  Driver  had 
been  cruel  to  him  and  had  often  beaten  him. 
So  he  resolved  never  again  to  stray  away  as 
he  had  done  that  unlucky  time.  And  when 
they  were  all  ready  to  start,  Gerasimus  called 
Leo,  and  he  got  up  from  the  chest  of  the 
Camel  Driver,  where  he  had  been  sitting  all 
this  time,  washing  his  face  with  his  paws  and 
smiling. 

"  My  poor  old  Leo ! "  said  Gerasimus,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  "  I  have  made  you  suffer 
cruelly  for  a  crime  of  which  you  were  not 
guilty.  But  I  will  make  it  up  to  you." 

Then  happily  the  three  set  out  for  home, 
and  all  the  way  Gerasimus  kept  his  arm 
about  the  neck  of  his  lion,  who  was  wild  with 
joy  because  he  and  his  dear  master  were 
friends  once  more,  and  the  dreadful  mistake 
was  discovered. 

They  had  a  joyful  reception  at  the  monas- 
tery on  the  hill.  Of  course  every  one  was  glad 


28  SAINT  GERASIMUS 

to  see  poor  Silly  again ;  but  best  of  all  it  was 
to  know  that  their  dear  old  lion  was  not  a 
wicked  murderer.  They  petted  him  and  gave 
him  so  many  good  things  to  eat  that  he 
almost  burst  with  fatness.  They  made  him 
a  soft  bed,  and  all  the  monks  took  turns  in 
scratching  his  chin  for  ten  minutes  at  a  time, 
which  was  what  Leo  loved  better  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world. 

And  so  he  dwelt  happily  with  the  good 
monks,  one  of  the  most  honored  brothers 
of  the  monastery.  Always  together  he  and 
Gerasimus  lived  and  slept  and  ate  and  took 
their  walks.  And  at  last  after  many,  many 
years,  they  grew  old  together,  and  very  tired 
and  sleepy.  So  one  night  Gerasimus,  who 
had  become  an  Abbot,  the  head  of  the  mon- 
astery, lay  gently  down  to  rest,  and  never 
woke  up  in  the  morning.  But  the  great  lion 
loved  him  so  that  when  they  laid  Saint 
Gerasimus  to  sleep  under  a  beautiful  plane- 
tree  in  the  garden,  Leo  lay  down  upon  the 
mound  moaning  and  grieving,  and  would  not 
move.  So  his  faithful  heart  broke  that  day, 
and  he,  too,  slept  forever  by  his  dear  master's 
side. 


AND  THE  LION  29 

But  this  was  not  a  sad  thing  that  hap- 
pened. For  think  how  dreadful  the  days 
would  have  been  for  Leo  without  Gerasimus. 
And  think  how  sad  a  life  Gerasimus  would 
have  spent  if  Leo  had  left  him  first.  Oh,  no ; 
it  was  not  sad,  but  very,  very  beautiful  that 
the  dear  Saint  and  his  friendly  beast  could  be 
happy  together  all  the  day,  and  when  the 
long  night  came  they  could  sleep  together 
side  by  side  in  the  garden. 


SAINT  KENETH  OF  THE 
GULLS   **>>>>> 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  more  than  a  thou- 
sand years  ago,  a  great  white  sea- 
gull was  circling  above  the  waves 
which  roll  between  South  England  and 
Wales.  He  was  pretending  that  he  was  do- 
ing this  just  for  fun ;  and  he  seemed  very 
lazy  and  dozy  as  he  poised  and  floated  with- 
out much  trouble  to  move  his  wings.  But 
really  he  was  looking  for  a  dinner,  though  he 
did  not  want  any  one  to  suspect  it.  And  he 
hoped  that  some  unwary  fish  would  swim  up 
near  the  surface  of  the  water  within  diving 
reach  of  his  great  claws.  His  keen  gray 
eyes  were  open  all  the  while  unsleepily,  and 
not  much  that  was  going  on  down  below  on 
the  water  escaped  his  notice. 

Suddenly  his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  little 
black  speck  on  the  waves.  "  Aha ! "  he  said 
to  himself,  "  I  think  I  see  my  dinner ! "  and 
with  a  great  swoop  down  he  pounced.  You 
could  hardly  think  how  anything  which 
looked  so  lazy  and  quiet  could  dart  so  like 
a  flash  of  lightning.  But  a  gull  is  an  air-ship 


SAINT  KENETH  31 

that  can  sink  whenever  it  chooses.  And  when 
he  gives  a  fish  a  sudden  invitation  to  step  in 
for  dinner,  the  fish  is  hardly  able  to  refuse. 

But  this  was  no  fish  which  the  hungry 
gull  had  spied.  Before  he  reached  the  water 
he  saw  his  mistake,  and  wheeling  swiftly  as 
only  a  gull  can,  he  flapped  back  again  into 
the  air,  uttering  a  screech  of  surprise. 

"  Cree-e-e  ! "  he  cried.  "  'T  is  no  scaly 
water-fish  such  as  I  like  to  eat.  'T  is  one  of 
those  smooth  land-fishes  with  yellow  seaweed 
growing  on  its  head.  What  is  it  doing  here  *? 
I  must  see  to  this.  Cree-e-e ! " 

No  wonder  the  great  bird  circled  and 
swooped  curiously  over  the  wicker  basket 
which  was  floating  on  the  waves.  For  on  a 
piece  of  purple  cloth  lay  a  tiny  pink-and- 
white  baby,  sound  asleep,  his  yellow  hair 
curling  about  the  dimpled  face,  and  one 
thumb  thrust  into  the  round  red  mouth. 

"  Well,  well ! "  said  the  sea-gull  to  himself 
when  he  had  examined  the  strange  floating 
thing  all  he  wished.  "  I  must  go  and  tell  the 
others  about  this.  Something  must  be  done. 
There  is  a  storm  brewing,  and  this  boat  will 
not  bear  much  rough  weather.  This  little 


32  SAINT   KENETH 

land-fish  cannot  swim.  We  must  take  care 
of  him.  Cree-e-e ! "  So  off  he  flapped,  and  as 
he  went  he  gave  the  family  cry  to  call  the 
gulls  about  him,  wherever  they  might  be. 

Soon  they  came,  circling  carelessly,  swoop- 
ing sulkily,  floating  happily,  darting  eagerly, 
according  to  their  various  dispositions ;  and 
as  they  came  they  gave  the  Gull  cry. 
"  Cree-e-e ! "  said  they,  "  what  is  the  matter  *?  " 
"  Follow  me,"  said  the  White  Gull  to  the 
great  fleet  of  gray-winged  air-ships.  "  Follow 
me,  and  you  shall  see  "  (which  is  Gull  poetry). 

Then  he  led  the  flock  over  the  spot  where 
the  wicker  cradle  tossed  on  the  growing 
waves.  "  Lo,"  said  he,  "  a  land-fish  in  danger 
of  being  drowned  among  the  Scaly  Ones. 
Let  us  save  it.  See  how  pink  it  is.  Its  eyes 
are  a  piece  of  the  sky,  and  its  voice  is  not 
unlike  ours  —  listen ! " 

For  by  this  time  the  baby  had  wakened, 
and  feeling  cold  and  hungry  and  wet  with 
the  dashing  spray,  opened  his  pink  mouth, 
and  began  to  cry  lustily.  "  E-e-e-e-e ! "  wailed 
the  baby;  and  as  the  White  Gull  had  said, 
that  sounds  very  like  the  chief  word  of  the 
Gull  tongue. 


OF  THE  GULLS 


33 


SAINT  KENETH  OF  THE  GULLS 

"Poor  little  thing!"  said  all  the  mother 
gulls  in  chorus.  "  He  talks  our  language,  he 
must  be  saved.  Come,  brothers  and  sisters, 
and  use  your  beaks  and  talons  before  the 


34  SAINT  KENETH 

clumsy  nest  in  which  he  lies  is  sunk  beneath 
the  waves.  Cree-e-e,  little  one,  cree-e-e !  We 
will  save  you." 

Now,  I  don't  know  what  cree-e-e  means  in 
Gull.  But  the  baby  must  have  understood. 
For  he  stopped  crying  instantly,  and  looked 
up  laughing  at  the  white  wings  which  fanned 
his  face  and  the  kind  gray  eyes  which  peered 
into  his  own  blue  ones. 

So  the  strong  gulls  seized  the  corners  of 
the  purple  cloth  on  which  the  baby  lay,  some 
with  their  claws,  some  with  their  hooked 
beaks.  And  at  a  signal  from  the  White  Gull 
they  fluttered  up  and  away,  bearing  the  baby 
over  the  waves  as  if  he  were  in  a  little  ham- 
mock. The  White  Gull  flew  on  before  and 
guided  them  to  land,  —  a  high  shelf  which 
hung  over  the  sea  roaring  on  the  rocks  be- 
low, the  nicest  kind  of  a  gull  home.  And 
here  they  laid  the  baby  down,  and  sat  about 
wondering  what  they  must  do  next.  But  the 
baby  cried. 

"  We  must  build  him  a  nest,"  said  the 
White  Gull.  "  These  rocks  are  too  hard  and 
too  sharp  for  a  little  land-fish.  I  know  how 
they  sleep  in  their  home  nests,  for  I  have 
seen." 


OF   THE  GULLS  35 

Now  the  gulls  lay  their  eggs  on  the  bare 
rocks,  and  think  these  quite  soft  enough  for 
the  young  gull  babies.  But  they  all  agreed 
that  this  would  never  do  for  the  little  stranger. 
So  they  pulled  the  downy  feathers  from  their 
breasts  till  they  had  a  great  pile ;  and  of  this 
they  made  the  softest  bed  in  which  they  laid 
the  baby.  And  he  slept. 

This  is  how  little  Saint  Keneth  was  saved 
from  the  waves  by  the  kind  sea-gulls.  And 
it  goes  to  show  that  birds  are  sometimes 
kinder  than  human  folk.  For  Keneth  was 
the  Welsh  Prince's  little  son.  But  no  one 
loved  him,  and  his  cruel  mother  had  put  him 
into  the  wicker  basket  and  set  him  afloat  on 
the  waves,  not  caring  what  became  of  him 
nor  hoping  to  see  him  again.  But  this  in 
after  years  she  did,  when  Keneth  was  become 
a  great  and  famous  Saint  whom  all,  even  the 
Prince  and  Princess,  honored.  She  did  not 
know  him  then  because  she  believed  that  he 
was  dead.  How  proud  she  would  have  been 
if  she  could  have  called  him  "  Son ! "  But 
that  was  many  years  later. 

Now  when  the  gulls  had  made  Keneth 
this  comfortable  nest,  they  next  wondered 


36  SAINT  KENETH 

what  they  should  do  to  get  him  food.  But 
the  White  Gull  had  an  idea.  He  flew  away 
over  the  land  and  was  gone  for  some  time. 
When  at  last  he  returned  hethad  with  him  a 
kind  forest  doe,  —  a  yellow  mother  Deer  who 
had  left  her  little  ones,  at  the  White  Gull's 
request,  to  come  and  feed  the  stranger  baby. 
So  Keneth  found  a  new  mother  who  loved 
him  far  better  than  his  own  had  done,  —  a 
new  mother  who  came  every  morning  and 
every  night  and  fed  him  with  her  milk.  And 
he  grew  strong  and  fat  and  hearty,  the  happy 
baby  in  his  nest  upon  the  rocks,  where  his 
friends,  the  sea-gulls,  watched  over  him,  and 
the  mother  Deer  fed  and  cared  for  him,  and 
washed  him  clean  with  her  warm  crash-towel 
tongue. 

Now  when  Keneth  had  lived  in  the  sea- 
gulls' home  for  some  months,  one  day  the 
flock  of  guardian  gulls  left  him  while  they 
went  upon  a  fishing  trip.  The  mother  Deer 
had  not  yet  come  with  his  breakfast,  but  was 
at  home  with  her  own  little  ones,  so  that  for 
the  first  time  Keneth  was  quite  alone.  He 
did  not  know  this,  but  was  sleeping  peace- 
fully on  his  purple  quilt,  when  a  strange  face 


OF  THE  GULLS  37 

came  peering  over  the  edge  of  the  rocks.  It 
was  a  Shepherd  from  the  nearest  village  who 
had  clambered  up  to  seek  gulls'  eggs  for  his 
breakfast.  But  his  eyes  bulged  out  of  his 
head,  and  he  nearly  fell  over  backward  into 
the  sea  with  surprise  when  he  saw  Keneth 
lying  in  his  nest  of  feathers. 

"  The  Saints  preserve  us ! "  he  cried, 
"  what  is  this  *?  "  But  when  he  had  climbed 
nearer  and  saw  what  it  really  was,  he  was 
delighted  with  the  treasure  which  he  had 
found.  "A  beautiful  little  baby!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  will  take  him  home  to  my  wife, 
who  has  no  child  of  her  own."  And  forthwith 
he  took  up  Keneth,  wrapped  in  the  purple 
cloth,  and  started  down  over  the  rocks  towards 
his  home. 

But  Keneth  wakened  at  the  stranger's 
touch  and  began  to  wail.  He  had  no  mind 
to  go  with  the  Shepherd;  he  wanted  to  stay 
where  he  was.  So  as  they  went  he  screamed 
at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  hoping  some  of  his 
friends  would  come.  And  the  mother  Deer, 
who  was  on  her  way  thither,  heard  his  voice. 
She  came  running  in  a  fright,  but  she  could 
do  nothing  to  protect  him,  being  a  gentle, 


3  8  SAINT  KENETH 

weaponless  creature.  However,  she  followed 
anxiously  to  see  what  would  happen  to  her 
darling.  So  they  went  down  the  rocks,  Ken- 
eth  and  the  Shepherd,  with  the  Deer  close 
behind.  And  all  the  way  Keneth  shrieked 
loudly,  "E-e-e-e!" 

Now  at  last  a  messenger  breeze  carried 
the  baby  voice  out  over  the  water  of  the 
Bristol  Channel  where  the  gulls  were  fish- 
ing. 

"What  is  that*?"  they  said,  stopping 
their  work  to  listen.  "Is  it  not  our  little 
land-fish  calling  us  in  Gull  ?  He  is  in  trou- 
ble or  danger.  Brothers,  to  the  rescue ! 
Cre-e-e-e!" 

So  the  flock  of  gulls  left  their  fishing  and 
swooped  back  to  the  rock  where  they  had 
left  the  baby.  Dreadful !  The  nest  was 
empty.  They  flapped  their  wide  wings  and 
screamed  with  fear,  "  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

But  just  then  up  the  rocky  hill  came  pant- 
ing the  mother  Deer.  Her  glossy  hide  was 
warm  and  wet,  and  her  tongue  lolled  out 
with  weariness,  she  had  run  so  fast. 

"  He  is  down  there,"  she  panted.  "  The 
Shepherd  has  carried  him  to  his  hut  and  laid 


OF   THE  GULLS  39 

him  in  a  nest  such  as  human-folk  make.  The 
Shepherd's  wife  loves  him  and  would  keep 
him  there,  but  he  is  unhappy  and  cries  for 
us.  You  must  bring  him  back." 

"  We  will,  we  will ! "  screamed  the  gulls 
in  chorus.  "  Guide  us  to  the  place,  mother 
Deer."  And  without  another  word  they  rose 
on  their  great,  strong  wings,  and  followed 
where  she  led.  Back  down  the  hill  she  took 
the  path,  over  the  moor  and  up  the  lane  to 
a  little  white  cottage  under  the  rosebushes. 
"Here  is  the.  place,"  said  the  Deer,  and  she 
paused. 

But  the  flock  of  gulls  with  a  great  whir- 
ring and  rustling  and  screaming  swooped  in 
at  the  little  low  door,  straight  up  to  the  cradle 
where  Keneth  lay  crying  "  E-e-e-e ! "  as  if  his 
heart  would  break. 

The  Shepherd's  wife  was  sitting  by  the 
cradle  saying,  "  Hush ! "  and  "  Bye-lo ! "  and 
other  silly  things  that  Keneth  did  not  under- 
stand. But  when  she  heard  the  rushing  of 
the  gulls'  wings,  she  gave  a  scream  and 
started  for  the  door. 

"  Cree-e-e  ! "  cried  the  gulls  fiercely. 
"  Give  us  our  little  one."  And  they  perched 


40  SAINT  KENETH 

on  the  edge  of  the  cradle  and  looked  tenderly 
at  Keneth.  Then  he  stopped  his  crying  and 
began  to  laugh,  for  these  were  the  voices  he 
knew  and  loved.  And  in  another  minute  the 
gulls  had  fastened  their  beaks  and  claws  into 
the  purple  cloth,  and  once  more  bore  him 
away  as  they  had  done  when  they  saved  him 
from  the  sea. 

Out  of  the  door  they  flew,  right  over  the 
Shepherd's  astonished  head,  while  his  wife 
stared  wildly  at  the  empty  cradle.  And  soon 
Keneth  was  lying  in  his  own  nest  on  the 
ledge  above  the  roaring  billows. 

After  this  no  one  tried  again  to  bring  the 
gulls'  adopted  baby  back  among  human  folk. 
Little  Keneth  tarried  and  thrived  with  his 
feathered  brothers,  growing  fat  and  strong. 
When  he  came  to  walk  he  was  somewhat 
lame,  to  be  sure ;  one  of  his  legs  was  shorter 
than  the  other,  and  he  limped  like  a  poor  gull 
who  has  hurt  his  foot.  But  this  troubled 
Keneth  very  little,  and  the  gulls  were  kind. 
He  was  always  happy  and  contented,  full  of 
singing  and  laughter  and  kind  words  for  all. 

And  here  in  his  wild,  spray-sprinkled  nest 
above  the  Atlantic  breakers,  Keneth  dwelt 


OF  THE  GULLS  41 

all  his  life.  The  Welsh  peasants  of  the  Gower 
peninsula  revered  him  as  their  Saint,  know- 
ing him  to  be  a  holy  man  beloved  by  the 
gulls  and  the  deer  and  all  the  wild  creatures 
of  shore  and  forest,  who  did  their  kindly  best 
to  make  him  happy. 


SAINT   LAUNOMAR'S 

COW  ££££££££ 

SAINT  LAUNOMAR  had  once  been  a 
shepherd  boy  in  the  meadows  of  sunny 
France,  and  had  lived  among  the  gen- 
tle creatures  of  the  fold  and  byre.    So  he  un- 
derstood them  and  their  ways  very  well,  and 
they  knew  him  for  their  friend.   For  this  is  a 
secret  which  one  cannot  keep  from  the  ani- 
mals whose  speech  is  silent. 

Saint  Launomar  had  a  cow  of  whom  he 
was  fond,  a  sleek  black  and  white  beauty, 
who  pastured  in  the  green  meadows  of 
Chartres  near  the  monastery  and  came  home 
every  evening  to  be  milked  and  to  rub  her 
soft  nose  against  her  master's  hand,  telling 
him  how  much  she  loved  him.  Mignon  was 
a  very  wise  cow ;  you  could  tell  that  by  the 
curve  of  her  horns  and  by  the  wrinkles  in  her 
forehead  between  the  eyes ;  and  especially  by 
the  way  she  switched  her  tail.  And  indeed, 
a  cow  ought  to  be  wise  who  has  been  brought 
up  by  a  whole  monastery  of  learned  men, 
with  Launomar,  the  wisest  person  in  all  the 
country,  for  her  master  and  friend. 


SAINT   LAUNOMAR'S  COW    43 

It  was  a  dark  night  after  milking  time; 
Launomar  had  put  Mignon  in  her  stall  with 
a  supper  of  hay  before  her,  and  had  bade  her 
good-night  and  a  pleasant  cud-time.  Then 
he  had  shut  the  heavy  barn  door  and  had 
gone  back  to  his  cell  to  sleep  soundly  till 
morning. 

But  no  sooner  had  his  lantern  disappeared 
through  the  gate  of  the  monastery,  than  out 
of  the  forest  came  five  black  figures,  creeping, 
creeping  along  the  wall  and  across  the  yard 
and  up  to  the  great  oak  door.  They  were  all 
muffled  in  long  black  cloaks,  and  wore  their 
caps  pulled  down  over  their  faces,  as  if  they 
were  afraid  of  being  recognized.  They  were 
wicked-looking  men,  and  they  had  big  knives 
stuck  in  their  belts  quite  convenient  to  their 
hands.  It  was  a  band  of  robbers ;  and  they 
had  come  to  steal  Launomar's  cow,  who  was 
known  to  be  the  handsomest  in  all  that  part 
of  the  world. 

Very  softly  they  forced  open  the  great 
door,  and  very  softly  they  stole  across  the 
floor  to  Mignon's  stall  and  threw  a  strong 
halter  about  her  neck  to  lead  her  away.  But 
first  they  were  careful  to  tie  up  her  mouth  in 


44    SAINT   LAUNOMAR'S  COW 

a  piece  of  cloth  so  that  she  could  not  low 
and  tell  the  whole  monastery  what  danger 
she  was  in.  Mignon  was  angry,  for  that  was 
just  what  she  had  meant  to  do  as  soon  as  she 
saw  that  these  were  no  friends,  but  wicked 
men  who  had  come  for  no  good  to  her  or  to 
the  monastery. 

But  now  she  had  to  go  with  them  dumbly, 
although  she  struggled  and  kicked  and  made 
all  the  noise  she  could.  But  the  monks  were 
already  sound  asleep  and  snoring  on  their 
hard  pallets,  and  never  suspected  what  was 
going  on  so  near  to  them.  Even  Launomar, 
who  turned  over  in  his  sleep  and  murmured, 
"  Ho,  Mignon,  stand  still ! "  when  he  dimly 
recognized  a  sound  of  kicking,  —  even  Lau- 
nomar did  not  waken  to  rescue  his  dear 
Mignon  from  the  hands  of  those  villains  who 
were  taking  her  away. 

The  robbers  led  her  hurriedly  down  the 
lane,  across  the  familiar  meadows  and  into 
the  dense  woods,  where  they  could  hide  from 
any  one  who  happened  to  pass  by.  Now  it 
was  dark  and  they  could  see  but  dimly  where 
they  were  going.  The  paths  crossed  and 
crisscrossed  in  so  many  directions  that  they 


SAINT   LAUNOMAR'S  COW    45 

soon  began  to  quarrel  about  which  was  the 
right  one  to  take.  They  did  not  know  this 
part  of  the  country  very  well,  for  they  were 
strangers  from  a  different  province,  who  had 
come  to  Launomar's  home  because  they  had 
heard  of  his  famous  cow  and  were  bound  to 
have  her  for  themselves. 

Very  soon  the  robbers  were  lost  in  the 
tangle  of  trees  and  bushes  and  did  not  know 
where  they  were,  or  in  which  direction  they 
ought  to  go.  One  said,  "  Go  that  way," 
pointing  towards  the  north.  And  one  said, 
"No,  no!  Go  that  way,"  pointing  directly 
south.  The  third  grumbled  and  said,  "  Ho, 
fellows !  Not  so,  but  this  way,"  and  he  strode 
towards  the  east.  While  the  fourth  man 
cried,  "  You  are  all  wrong,  comrades.  It  is 
there  we  must  go,"  and  he  started  to  lead 
Mignon  towards  the  west.  But  the  fifth  rob- 
ber confessed  that  indeed  he  did  not  know. 

"  Let  us  follow  the  cow,"  he  cried ;  "  she  is 
the  only  one  who  can  see  in  the  dark.  I  have 
always  heard  that  animals  will  lead  you  aright 
if  you  leave  the  matter  to  them."  Now  as  the 
other  robbers  really  did  not  have  the  least 
idea  in  the  world  as  to  which  was  the  right 


46     SAINT  LAUNOMAR'S  COW 

direction,  this  seemed  to  them  as  sensible  a 
plan  as  any.  So  they  stripped  the  halter  from 
Mignon's  head  and  said,  "Hi,  there!  Get 
along,  Cow,  and  show  us  the  way." 

Mignon  looked  at  them  through  the  dark 
with  her  big  brown  eyes,  and  laughed  inside. 
It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true !  They  had 
left  her  free,  and  were  bidding  her  to  guide 
them  on  their  way  out  of  the  forest  back  to 
their  own  country.  Mignon  chuckled  again, 
so  loudly  that  they  thought  she  must  be 
choking,  and  hastily  untied  the  cloth  from 
her  mouth.  This  was  just  what  she  wanted, 
for  she  longed  to  chew  her  cud  again.  She 
tossed  her  head  and  gave  a  gentle  "  Moo ! " 
as  if  to  say,  "Come  on,  simple  men,  and  I 
will  show  you  the  way."  But  really  she  was 
thinking  to  herself,  "  Aha !  my  fine  fellows. 
Now  I  will  lead  you  a  pretty  chase.  And 
you  shall  be  repaid  for  this  night's  work, 
aha!" 

Mignon  was  a  very  wise  cow.  She  had 
not  pastured  in  the  meadows  about  Chartres 
with  blind  eyes.  She  knew  the  paths  north 
and  south  and  east  and  west  through  the 
forest  and  the  fern ;  and  even  in  the  dark  of 


SAINT  LAUNOMAR'S   COW    47 

the  tangled  underbrush  she  could  feel  out 
the  way  quite  plainly.  But  she  said  to  her- 
self "  I  must  not  make  the  way  too  easy  for 
these  wicked  men.  I  must  punish  them  all 
I  can  now  that  it  is  my  turn." 

So  she  led  them  roundabout  and  round- 
about, through  mud  and  brambles  and 
swamps ;  over  little  brooks  and  through  big 
miry  ponds  where  they  were  nearly  drowned, 
—  roundabout  and  roundabout  all  night  long. 
They  wanted  to  rest,  but  she  went  so  fast 
that  they  could  not  catch  her  to  make  her 
stand  still.  And  they  dared  not  lose  sight 
of  her  big  whiteness  through  the  dark,  for 
now  they  were  completely  lost  and  could 
never  find  their  way  out  of  the  wilderness 
without  her.  So  all  night  long  she  kept  them 
panting  and  puffing  and  wading  after  her,  till 
they  were  all  worn  out,  cold  and  shivering 
with  wet,  scratched  and  bleeding  from  the 
briars,  and  cross  as  ten  sticks. 

But  when  at  last,  an  hour  after  sunrise, 
Mignon  led  them  out  into  an  open  clearing, 
their  faces  brightened. 

"  Oh,  I  think  I  remember  this  place,"  said 
the  first  man. 


48     SAINT   LAUNOMAR'S  COW 

"  Yes,  it  has  a  familiar  look.  We  must 
be  near  home,"  said  the  second. 

"We  are  at  least  twenty-five  miles  from 
the  monks  of  Chartres  by  this  time,"  said  the 
third,  "  and  I  wish  we  had  some  breakfast." 

"  By  another  hour  we  shall  have  the  cow 
safe  in  our  home  den,"  said  the  fourth,  "  and 
then  we  will  have  some  bread  and  milk." 

But  the  fifth  interrupted  them  saying, 
"  Look !  Who  is  that  man  in  gray  ?  " 

They  all  looked  up  quickly  and  began  to 
tremble ;  but  Mignon  gave  a  great  "  Moo ! " 
and  galloped  forward  to  meet  the  figure  who 
had  stepped  out  from  behind  a  bush.  It  was 
Saint  Launomar  himself! 

He  had  been  up  ever  since  dawn  looking 
for  his  precious  cow ;  for  when  he  went  to 
milk  her  he  had  found  the  barn  empty,  and 
her  footprints  with  those  of  the  five  robbers 
in  the  moist  earth  had  told  the  story  and 
pointed  which  way  the  company  had  gone. 
But  it  was  not  his  plan  to  scold  or  frighten 
the  robbers.  He  walked  up  to  them,  for  they 
were  so  surprised  to  see  him  that  they  stood 
still  trembling,  forgetting  even  to  run  away. 

"  Good-morning,  friends,"  said  Launomar 


SAINT  LAUNOMAR'S  COW    49 

kindly.  "  You  have  brought  back  my  cow, 
I  see,  who  to-night  for  the  first  time  has  left 
her  stall  to  wander  far.  I  thank  you,  good 
friends,  for  bringing  Mignon  to  me.  For  she 
is  not  only  a  treasure  in  herself,  but  she  is  my 
dearest  friend  and  I  should  be  most  unhappy 
to  lose  her." 

The  men  stood  staring  at  Launomar  in 
astonishment.  They  could  hardly  believe 
their  eyes  and  their  ears.  Where  did  he  come 
from?  What  did  he  mean?  But  when  they 
realized  how  kind  his  voice  was,  and  that  he 
was  not  accusing  them  nor  threatening  to 
have  them  punished,  they  were  very  much 
ashamed.  They  hung  their  heads  guiltily; 
and  then  all  of  a  sudden  they  fell  at  his  feet, 
the  five  of  them,  confessing  how  it  had  all 
come  about  and  begging  his  pardon. 

"  We  stole  the  cow,  Master,"  said  the  first 
one. 

"  And  carried  her  these  many  miles  away," 
said  the  second. 

•"We  are  wicked  robbers  and  deserve  to 
be  punished,"  said  the  third. 

"  But  we  beg  you  to  pardon  us,"  cried  the 
fourth. 


50    SAINT  LAUNOMAR'S  COW 

"  Let  us  depart,  kind  Father,  we  pray  you," 
begged  the  fifth.  "  And  be  so  good  as  to 
direct  us  on  our  way,  for  we  are  sorely  puz- 
zled." 

"Nay,  nay,"  answered  Saint  Launomar 
pleasantly,  "the  cow  hath  led  you  a  long 
way,  hath  she  not  *?  You  must  be  both  tired 
and  hungry.  You  cannot  journey  yet."  And 
in  truth  they  were  miserable  objects  to  see, 
so  that  the  Saint's  kind  heart  was  filled  with 
pity,  robbers  though  they  were.  "Follow 
me,"  he  said.  By  this  time  they  were  too 
weak  and  weary  to  think  of  disobeying.  So 
meekly  they  formed  into  a  procession  of 
seven,  Launomar  and  the  cow  going  cheer- 
fully at  the  head.  For  these  two  were  very 
glad  to  be  together  again,  and  his  arm  was 
thrown  lovingly  about  her  glossy  neck  as 
they  went. 

But  what  was  the  amazement  of  the  five 
robbers  when  in  a  short  minute  or  two  they 
turned  a  corner,  and  there  close  beside  them 
stood  the  monastery  itself,  with  the  very 
barn  from  which  they  had  stolen  Mignon 
the  night  before!  All  this  time  the  clever 
cow  had  led  them  in  great  circles  roundabout 


SAINT   LAUNOMAR'S  COW     51 

and  roundabout  her  own  home.  And  after 
all  this  scrambling  and  wading  through  the 
darkness,  in  the  morning  they  were  no  farther 
on  their  journey  than  they  had  been  at  the 
start.  What  a  wise  cow  that  was !  And  what 
a  good  breakfast  of  bran  porridge  and  hay 
and  sweet  turnips  Launomar  gave  her  to  pay 
for  her  hard  night's  work. 

The  five  robbers  had  a  good  breakfast 
too ;  but  perhaps  they  did  not  relish  it  as 
Mignon  did  hers.  For  their  consciences  were 
heavy;  besides,  they  sat  at  the  monastery 
table,  and  all  the  monks  stood  by  in  a  row, 
saying  nothing  but  pursing  up  their  mouths 
and  looking  pious ;  which  was  trying.  And 
when  the  robbers  came  to  drink  their  por- 
ridge Launomar  said  mildly,  — 

"  That  is  Mignon's  milk  which  you  drink, 
Sirs.  It  is  the  best  milk  in  France,  and  you 
are  welcome  to  it  for  your  breakfast  to-day, 
since  we  have  such  reason  to  be  grateful  to 
you  for  not  putting  it  beyond  our  reach  for- 
ever. Ah,  my  friends,  we  could  ill  spare  so 
worthy  a  cow,  so  good  a  friend,  so  faithful  a 
guide.  But  I  trust  that  you  will  not  need 
her  services  again.  Perhaps  by  daylight  you 


52    SAINT  LAUNOMAR'S  COW 

can  find  your  way  home  without  her  if  I  di- 
rect you.  The  highroad  is  plain  and  straight 
for  honest  men.  I  commend  it  to  you." 

So,  when  they  were  refreshed  and  rested, 
Launomar  led  them  forth  and  pointed  out 
the  way  as  he  had  promised.  He  and  Mi- 
gnon  stood  on  the  crest  of  a  little  hill  and 
watched  them  out  of  sight.  Then  they  turned 
and  looked  at  one  another,  the  wise  Saint  and 
his  wise  cow. 

And  they  both  chuckled  inside. 


SAINT    WERBURGH    & 

HER  GOOSE  t   t   t   t   * 

i. 

SAINT  WERBURGH  was  a  King's 
daughter,  a  real  princess,  and  very 
beautiful.  But  unlike  most  princesses 
of  the  fairy  tales,  she  cared  nothing  at  all 
about  princes  or  pretty  clothes  or  jewels,  or 
about  having  a  good  time.  Her  only  longing 
was  to  do  good  and  to  make  other  people 
happy,  and  to  grow  good  and  wise  herself,  so 
that  she  could  do  this  all  the  better.  So  she 
studied  and  studied,  worked  and  worked; 
and  she  became  a  holy  woman,  an  Abbess. 
And  while  she  was  still  very  young  and 
beautiful,  she  was  given  charge  of  a  whole 
convent  of  nuns  and  school-girls  not  much 
younger  than  herselfj  because  she  was  so 
much  wiser  and  better  than  any  one  else  in 
all  the  countryside. 

But  though  Saint  Werburgh  had  grown 
so  famous  and  so  powerful,  she  still  remained 
a  simple,  sweet  girl.  All  the  country  people 
loved  her,  for  she  was  always  eager  to  help 
them,  to  cure  the  little  sick  children  and  to 


54  SAINT  WERBURGH 

advise  their  fathers  and  mothers.  She  never 
failed  to  answer  the  questions  which  puzzled 
them,  and  so  she  set  their  poor  troubled 
minds  at  ease.  She  was  so  wise  that  she 
knew  how  to  make  people  do  what  she  knew 
to  be  right,  even  when  they  wanted  to  do 
wrong.  And  not  only  human  folk  but  ani- 
mals felt  the  power  of  this  young  Saint.  For 
she  loved  and  was  kind  to  them  also.  She 
studied  about  them  and  grew  to  know  their 
queer  habits  and  their  animal  way  of  think- 
ing. And  she  learned  their  language,  too. 
Now  when  one  loves  a  little  creature  very 
much  and  understands  it  well,  one  can  almost 
always  make  it  do  what  one  wishes  —  that 
is,  if  one  wishes  right. 

Eor  some  time  Saint  Werburgh  had  been 
interested  in  a  flock  of  wild  geese  which  came 
every  day  to  get  their  breakfast  in  the  con- 
vent meadow,  and  to  have  a  morning  bath  in 
the  pond  beneath  the  window  of  her  cell. 
She  grew  to  watch  until  the  big,  long-necked 
gray  things  with  their  short  tails  and  clumsy 
feet  settled  with  a  harsh  "Honk!"  in  the 
grass.  Then  she  loved  to  see  the  big  ones 
waddle  clumsily  about  in  search  of  dainties 


AND  HER  GOOSE  55 

for  the  children,  while  the  babies  stood  still, 
flapping  their  wings  and  crying  greedily  till 
they  were  fed. 

There  was  one  goose  which  was  her  favor- 
ite. He  was  the  biggest  of  them  all,  fat  and 
happy  looking.  He  was  the  leader  and 
formed  the  point  of  the  V  in  which  a  flock 
of  wild  geese  always  flies.  He  was  the  first 
to  alight  in  the  meadow,  and  it  was  he  who 
chose  the  spot  for  their  breakfast.  Saint  Wer- 
burgh  named  him  Grayking,  and  she  grew 
very  fond  of  him,  although  they  had  never 
spoken  to  one  another. 

Master  Hugh  was  the  convent  Steward,  a 
big,  surly  fellow  who  did  not  love  birds  nor 
animals  except  when  they  were  served  up  for 
him  to  eat.  Hugh  also  had  seen  the  geese  in 
the  meadow.  But,  instead  of  thinking  how 
nice  and  funny  they  were,  and  how  amusing 
it  was  to  watch  them  eat  the  worms  and  flop 
about  in  the  water,  he  thought  only,  "  What 
a  fine  goose  pie  they  would  make ! "  And 
especially  he  looked  at  Grayking,  the  plump- 
est and  most  tempting  of  them  all,  and 
smacked  his  lips.  "Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had 
you  in  my  frying-pan ! "  he  said  to  himself. 


56  SAINT   WERBURGH 

Now  it  happened  that  worms  were  rather 
scarce  in  the  convent  meadow  that  spring.  It 
had  been  dry,  and  the  worms  had  crawled 
away  to  moister  places.  So  Grayking  and 
his  followers  found  it  hard  to  get  breakfast 
enough.  One  morning,  Saint  Werburgh 
looked  in  vain  for  them  in  the  usual  spot. 
At  first  she  was  only  surprised;  but  as  she 
waited  and  waited,  and  still  they  did  not 
come,  she  began  to  feel  much  alarmed. 

Just  as  she  was  going  down  to  her  own 
dinner,  the  Steward,  Hugh,  appeared  before 
her  cap  in  hand  and  bowing  low.  His  fat 
face  was  puffed  and  red  with  hurrying  up  the 
convent  hill,  and  he  looked  angry. 

"  What  is  it,  Master  Hugh  ?  "  asked  Saint 
Werburgh  in  her  gentle  voice.  "  Have  you 
not  money  enough  to  buy  to-morrow's  break- 
fast ?  "  for  it  was  his  duty  to  pay  the  convent 
bills. 

"  Nay,  Lady  Abbess,"  he  answered  gruffly ; 
"  it  is  not  lack  of  money  that  troubles  me. 
It  is  abundance  of  geese." 

"Geese!  How?  Why?"  exclaimed 
Saint  Werburgh,  startled.  "  What  of  geese, 
Master  Hugh?" 


AND   HER  GOOSE  57 

"This  of  geese,  Lady  Abbess,"  he  replied. 
"A  flock  of  long-necked  thieves  have  been 
in  my  new-planted  field  of  corn,  and  have 
stolen  all  that  was  to  make  my  harvest" 
Saint  Werburgh  bit  her  lips. 

"What  geese  were  they?"  she  faltered, 
though  she  guessed  the  truth. 

"  Whence  the  rascals  come,  I  know  not," 
he  answered,  "but  this  I  know.  They  are 
the  same  which  gather  every  morning  in  the 
meadow  yonder.  I  spied  the  leader,  a  fat, 
fine  thief  with  a  black  ring  about  his  neck. 
It  should  be  a  noose,  indeed,  for  hanging.  I 
would  have  them  punished,  Lady  Abbess." 

"  They  shall  be  punished,  Master  Hugh," 
said  Saint  Werburgh  firmly,  and  she  went 
sadly  up  the  stair  to  her  cell  without  tasting 
so  much  as  a  bit  of  bread  for  her  dinner.  For 
she  was  sorry  to  find  her  friends  such  naughty 
birds,  and  she  did  not  want  to  punish  them, 
especially  Grayking.  But  she  knew  that  she 
must  do  her  duty. 

When  she  had  put  on  her  cloak  and  hood 
she  went  out  into  the  courtyard  behind  the 
convent  where  there  were  pens  for  keeping 
doves  and  chickens  and  little  pigs.  And 


58  SAINT  WERBURGH 

standing  beside  the  largest  of  these  pens 
Saint  Werburgh  made  a  strange  cry,  like 
the  voice  of  the  geese  themselves,  —  a  cry 
which  seemed  to  say, "  Come  here,  Grayking's 
geese,  with  Grayking  at  the  head ! "  And  as 
she  stood  there  waiting,  the  sky  grew  black 
above  her  head  with  the  shadowing  of  wings, 
and  the  honking  of  the  geese  grew  louder 
and  nearer  till  they  circled  and  lighted  in  a 
flock  at  her  feet. 

She  saw  that  they  looked  very  plump  and 
well-fed,  and  Grayking  was  the  fattest  of  the 
flock.  All  she  did  was  to  look  at  them 
steadily  and  reproachfully ;  but  they  came 
waddling  bashfully  up  to  her  and  stood  in 
a  line  before  her  with  drooping  heads.  It 
seemed  as  if  something  made  them  stay  and 
listen  to  what  she  had  to  say,  although  they 
would  much  rather  fly  away. 

Then  she  talked  to  them  gently  and  told 
them  how  bad  they  were  to  steal  corn  and 
spoil  the  harvest.  And  as  she  talked  they 
grew  to  love  her  tender  voice,  even  though 
it  scolded  them.  She  cried  bitterly  as  she 
took  each  one  by  the  wings  and  shook  him 
for  his  sins  and  whipped  him  —  not  too  se- 


AND   HER  GOOSE  59 

verely.  Tears  stood  in  the  round  eyes  of  the 
geese  also,  not  because  she  hurt  them,  for  she 
had  hardly  ruffled  their  thick  feathers;  but 
because  they  were  sorry  to  have  pained  the 
beautiful  Saint.  For  they  saw  that  she  loved 
them,  and  the  more  she  punished  them  the 
better  they  loved  her.  Last  of  all  she  pun- 
ished Grayking.  But  when  she  had  finished 
she  took  him  up  in  her  arms  and  kissed  him 
before  putting  him  in  the  pen  with  the  other 
geese,  where  she  meant  to  keep  them  in 
prison  for  a  day  and  a  night.  Then  Gray- 
king  hung  his  head,  and  in  his  heart  he  pro- 
mised that  neither  he  nor  his  followers  should 
ever  again  steal  anything,  no  matter  how 
-hungry  they  were.  Now  Saint  Werburgh 
read  the  thought  in  his  heart  and  was  glad, 
and  she  smiled  as  she  turned  away.  She  was 
sorry  to  keep  them  in  the  cage,  but  she 
hoped  it  might  do  them  good.  And  she  said 
to  herself,  "They  shall  have  at  least  one 
good  breakfast  of  convent  porridge  before 
they  go." 

Saint  Werburgh  trusted  Hugh,  the  Stew- 
ard, for  she  did  not  yet  know  the  wickedness 
of  his  heart.  So  she  told  him  how  she  had 


60  SAINT  WERBURGH 

punished  the  geese  for  robbing  him,  and  how 
she  was  sure  they  would  never  do  so  any 
more.  Then  she  bade  him  see  that  they  had 
a  breakfast  of  convent  porridge  the  next 
morning;  and  after  that  they  should  be  set 
free  to  go  where  they  chose. 

Hugh  was  not  satisfied.  He  thought  the 
geese  had  not  been  punished  enough.  And 
he  went  away  grumbling,  but  not  daring  to 
say  anything  cross  to  the  Lady  Abbess  who 
was  the  King's  daughter. 


II. 

SAINT  WERBURGH  was  busy  all 
the  rest  of  that  day  and  early  the  next 
morning  too,  so  she  could  not  get  out 
again  to  see  the  prisoned  geese.  But  when 
she  went  to  her  cell  for  the  morning  rest 
after  her  work  was  done,  she  sat  down  by 
the  window  and  looked  out  smilingly,  think- 
ing to  see  her  friend  Grayking  and  the  others 
taking  their  bath  in  the  meadow.  But  there 
were  no  geese  to  be  seen !  Werburgh's  face 
grew  grave.  And  even  as  she  sat  there  won- 
dering what  had  happened,  she  heard  a  pro- 


AND  HER  GOOSE  61 

prodigious  honking  overhead,  and  a  flock  of 
geese  came  straggling  down,  not  in  the  usual 
trim  V,  but  all  unevenly  and  without  a 
leader.  Grayking  was  gone ! 

They  fluttered  about  crying  and  asking 
advice  of  one  another,  till  they  heard  Saint 
Werburgh's  voice  calling  them  anxiously. 
Then  with  a  cry  of  joy  they  flew  straight  up 
to  her  window  and  began  talking  all  together, 
trying  to  tell  her  what  had  happened. 

"Grayking  is  gone!"  they  said.  "Gray- 
king  is  stolen  by  the  wicked  Steward.  Gray- 
king  was  taken  away  when  we  were  set  free, 
and  we  shall  never  see  him  again.  What 
shall  we  do,  dear  lady,  without  our  leader  ?  " 

Saint  Werburgh  was  horrified  to  think 
that  her  dear  Grayking  might  be  in  danger. 
Oh,  how  that  wicked  Steward  had  deceived 
her!  She  began  to  feel  angry.  Then  she 
turned  to  the  birds :  "  Dear  geese,"  she  said 
earnestly,  "  you  have  promised  me  never  to 
steal  again,  have  you  not  *? "  and  they  all 
honked  "  Yes !  "  "  Then  I  will  go  and  ques- 
tion the  Steward,"  she  continued,  "  and  if  he 
is  guilty  I  will  punish  him  and  make  him 
bring  Grayking  back  to  you." 


6a  SAINT  WERBURGH 

The  geese  flew  away  feeling  somewhat 
comforted,  and  Saint  Werburgh  sent  speedily 
for  Master  Hugh.  He  came,  looking  much 
surprised,  for  he  could  not  imagine  what  she 
wanted  of  him.  "  Where  is  the  gray  goose 
with  the  black  ring  about  his  neck  *? "  began 
Saint  Werburgh  without  any  preface,  looking 
at  him  keenly.  He  stammered  and  grew  con- 
fused. "I  —  I  don't  know,  Lady  Abbess," 
he  faltered.  He  had  not  guessed  that  she 
cared  especially  about  the  geese. 

"Nay,  you  know  well,"  said  Saint  Wer- 
burgh, "for  I  bade  you  feed  them  and  set 
them  free  this  morning.  But  one  is  gone." 
"  A  fox  must  have  stolen  it,"  said  he  guiltily. 

"  Ay,  a  fox  with  black  hair  and  a  red,  fat 
face,"  quoth  Saint  Werburgh  sternly.  "  Do 
not  tell  me  lies.  You  have  taken  him,  Mas- 
ter Hugh.  I  can  read  it  in  your  heart."  Then 
he  grew  weak  and  confessed. 

"  Ay,  I  have  taken  the  great  gray  goose," 
he  said  faintly.  "  Was  it  so  very  wrong  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  friend  of  mine  and  I  love  him 
dearly,"  said  Saint  Werburgh.  At  these 
words  the  Steward  turned  very  pale  indeed. 

"  I  did  not  know,"  he  gasped. 


AND   HER  GOOSE  63 

"Go  and  bring  him  to  me,  then,"  com- 
manded the  Saint,  and  pointed  to  the  door. 
Master  Hugh  slunk  out  looking  very  sick 
and  miserable  and  horribly  frightened.  For 
the  truth  was  that  he  had  been  tempted  by 
Grayking's  fatness.  He  had  carried  the  goose 
home  and  made  him  into  a  hot,  juicy  pie 
which  he  had  eaten  for  that  very  morning's 
breakfast.  So  how  could  he  bring  the  bird 
back  to  Saint  Werburgh,  no  matter  how 
sternly  she  commanded  ? 

All  day  long  he  hid  in  the  woods,  not  dar- 
ing to  let  himself  be  seen  by  any  one.  For 
Saint  Werburgh  was  a  King's  daughter ;  and 
if  the  King  should  learn  what  he  had  done  to 
the  pet  of  the  Lady  Abbess,  he  might  have 
Hugh  himself  punished  by  being  baked  into 
a  pie  for  the  King's  hounds  to  eat. 

But  at  night  he  could  bear  it  no  longer. 
He  heard  the  voice  of  Saint  Werburgh  call- 
ing his  name  very  softly  from  the  convent, 
"Master  Hugh,  Master  Hugh,  come,  bring 
me  my  goose  ! "  And  just  as  the  geese  could 
not  help  coming  when  she  called  them,  so  he 
felt  that  he  must  go,  whether  he  would  or 
no.  He  went  into  his  pantry  and  took  down 


64  SAINT  WERBURGH 

the  remains  of  the  great  pie.  He  gathered  up 
the  bones  of  poor  Grayking  in  a  little  basket, 
and  with  chattering  teeth  and  shaking  limbs 
stole  up  to  the  convent  and  knocked  at  the 
wicket  gate. 

Saint  Werburgh  was  waiting  for  him.  "  I 
knew  you  would  come,"  she  said.  "Have 
you  brought  my  goose  ?  "  Then  silently  and 
with  trembling  hands  he  took  out  the  bones 
one  by  one  and  laid  them  on  the  ground 
before  Saint  Werburgh.  So  he  stood  with 
bowed  head  and  knocking  knees  waiting  to 
hear  her  pronounce  his  punishment 

"Oh,  you  wicked  man!"  she  said  sadly. 
"You  have  killed  my  beautiful  Grayking, 
who  never  did  harm  to  any  one  except  to 
steal  a  little  corn." 

"I  did  not  know  you  loved  him,  Lady," 
faltered  the  man  in  self-defense. 

"  You  ought  to  have  known  it,"  she  re- 
turned ;  "  you  ought  to  have  loved  him  your- 
self." 

"  I  did,  Lady  Abbess,"  confessed  the  man. 
"That  was  the  trouble.  I  loved  him  too 
well  —  in  a  pie." 

"Oh,  selfish,  gluttonous  man!"  she   ex- 


AND   HER  GOOSE  65 

claimed  in  disgust.  "Can  you  not  see  the 
beauty  of  a  dear  little  live  creature  till  it  is 
dead  and  fit  only  for  your  table  ?  I  shall  have 
you  taught  better.  Henceforth  you  shall  be 
made  to  study  the  lives  and  ways  of  all  things 
which  live  about  the  convent;  and  never 
again,  for  punishment,  shall  you  eat  flesh  of 
any  bird  or  beast.  We  will  see  if  you  can- 
not be  taught  to  love  them  when  they  have 
ceased  to  mean  Pie.  Moreover,  you  shall  be 
confined  for  two  days  and  two  nights  in  the 
pen  where  I  kept  the  geese.  And  porridge 
shall  be  your  only  food  the  while.  Go,  Mas- 
ter Hugh." 

So  the  wicked  Steward  was  punished.  But 
he  learned  his  lesson ;  and  after  a  little  while 
he  grew  to  love  the  birds  almost  as  well  as 
Saint  Werburgh  herself. 

But  she  had  not  yet  finished  with  Gray- 
king.  After  Master  Hugh  had  gone  she  bent 
over  the  pitiful  little  pile  of  bones  which  was 
all  that  was  left  of  that  unlucky  pie.  A  tear 
fell  upon  them  from  her  beautiful  eyes;  and 
kneeling  down  she  touched  them  with  her 
white  fingers,  speaking  softly  the  name  of 
the  bird  whom  she  had  loved. 


66  SAINT   WERBURGH 

"Grayking,  arise,"  she  said.  And  hardly 
had  the  words  left  her  mouth  when  a  strange 
thing  happened.  The  bones  stirred,  lifted 
themselves,  and  in  a  moment  a  glad  "  Honk ! " 
sounded  in  the  air,  and  Grayking  himself, 
black  ring  and  all,  stood  ruffling  his  feathers 
before  her.  She  clasped  him  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  him  again  and  again.  Then  calling 
the  rest  of  the  flock  by  her  strange  power, 
she  showed  them  their  lost  leader  restored  as 
good  as  new. 

What  a  happy  flock  of  geese  flew  honk- 
ing away  in  an  even  V,  with  the  handsomest, 
grayest,  plumpest  goose  in  all  the  world  at 
their  head !  And  what  an  exciting  story  he 
had  to  tell  his  mates!  Surely,  no  other 
goose  ever  lived  who  could  tell  how  it  felt 
to  be  made  into  pie,  to  be  eaten  and  to  have 
his  bones  picked  clean  by  a  greedy  Steward. 

This  is  how  Saint  Werburgh  made  lifelong 
friendship  with  a  flock  of  big  gray  geese. 
And  I  dare  say  even  now  in  England  one  of 
their  descendants  may  be  found  with  a  black 
ring  around  his  neck,  the  handsomest,  gray- 
est, plumpest  goose  in  all  the  world.  And 
when  he  hears  the  name  of  Saint  Werburgh, 


AND  HER  GOOSE 


67 


SAINT  WERBURGH  &  HER  GOOSE 

which  has  been  handed  down  to  him  from 
grandfather  to  grandson  for  twelve  hundred 
years,  he  will  give  an  especially  loud 
"  Honk ! "  of  praise. 


63  SAINT  WERBURGH 

Dear  Saint  Werburgh !  One  would  almost 
be  willing  to  make  a  goose  of  himself  if  so 
he  might  see  her  again,  with  all  her  feathered 
friends  about  her. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  SAINT 
ATHRACTA'S  STAGS  *  * 


A 


THRACTA  was  a  maiden  fair, 

A  Prince's  daughter  she  ; 
Down  to  her  feet  fell  golden  hair, 
A  wondrous  sight  to  see. 


And  all  amid  this  golden  shower, 

The  sweetest  rosebud  face 
Blossomed  like  a  dew-fed  flower 

Upon  a  stem  of  grace. 

Yet  loved  she  not  the  court  of  kings, 

But  in  the  wild  would  be, 
With  but  one  maid  her  hair  to  braid 

And  bear  her  company. 

So,  near  Lough  Cara's  silver  sheen, 
They  built  of  turf  and  bark 

A  hut  wherein  from  springtide  green 
They  dwelt  through  winter's  dark. 

On  seven  cross-roads  the  hut  was  made, 

That  they  might  offer  rest 
To  pilgrims  by  the  night  waylaid, 

And  strangers  hunger-pressed. 


yo  BALLAD   OF 

To  draw  them  water  from  the  lake, 

To  till  their  little  soil, 
Two  ancient  horses  did  they  take, 

Outworn  for  other  toil. 

Once  gallant  chargers  these  had  been, 
Keen-eyed  and  prancing  gay, 

Who  tourneys  brave  and  wars  had  seen, 
All  decked  in  bright  array. 

But  now  their  age  in  peace  was  spent 

By  kind  Athracta's  side ; 
No  gallant  wars,  no  tournament, 

And  yet  they  served  with  pride. 

Their  neighbors  in  the  forest  glades 
Were  stately,  antlered  deer, 

Nor  of  the  two  most  holy  maids 
Had  these,  their  brothers,  fear. 

So  dwelt  the  maidens  there  alone 
For  many  months  and  years, 

The  doings  of  the  world  unknown, 
Its  wars,  its  woes,  its  tears. 

But  strife  was  stirring  in  the  land, 
And  kings  must  castles  build, 


SAINT  ATHRACTA'S   STAGS    71 

To  guard  them  from  the  foeman's  hand 
With  fire  and  weapon  filled. 

And  so  the  King's  most  stern  decree 

Went  forth  upon  a  day,  — 
"  My  serfs  must  build  a  fort  for  me, 
Each  must  his  service  pay. 

"  Each  man  and  maiden  must  fulfill 

In  this  great  work  his  share  ; 
It  is  the  King  of  Connaught's  will, 
Let  tardy  hands  beware  ! " 

Athracta  sent  unto  the  King : 

"  We  be  but  maidens  twain, 
My  Liege,  we  cannot  do  this  thing, 

I  beg  we  may  refrain." 

But  sternly  sent  he  back  the  word,  — 
"  Ye  maids  must  do  your  part." 

He  was  a  hard  and  cruel  lord, 
No  pity  touched  his  heart. 

So  forth  they  fared  into  the  wood, 

Athracta  with  her  maid, 
To  fell  the  timber  as  they  could, 

Without  of  men  for  aid. 


72  BALLAD  OF 

Heavy  the  axe  and  full  of  pain 
Each  weak  and  skill-less  stroke, 

Yet  strove  the  maids  again,  again, 
With  walnut,  beech,  and  oak. 

Until  upon  the  wagon  cast 
By  which  the  horses  stood, 

Their  bleeding  hands  had  piled  at  last 
The  goodly  logs  of  wood. 

But  when  Athracta  saw  the  steeds 

Straining  with  feeble  will 
To  draw  the  heavy  load,  it  needs 

Must  make  her  eyes  to  fill. 

Athracta  spoke  all  piteously,  — 
"  Alack  !  poor  broken  things, 

Must  you,  too,  bear  your  painful  share 
To  save  the  pride  of  Kings  ? 

"  How  can  I  ease  your  burden,  how, 

My  faithful  servants  still  *? 
My  little  hands  are  bleeding  now 
With  toil  beyond  their  skill." 

"  O  mistress  dear,"  then  spoke  her  maid, 
"  These  be  but  feeble  nags ; 


SAINT  ATHRACTA'S   STAGS    73 

How  would  the  King's  pride  be  dismayed 
If  you  could  harness  Stags  !  " 

"  Thou  sayest  well,"  Athracta  vowed. 
"  Come  hither,  Stags  !  "  she  cried, 
And  lo  !  the  thud  of  hoofs  grew  loud 
Ere  yet  the  echo  died. 

"Come  hither,    Stags!"   O'er    green   and 

glade 

The  silver  summons  thrilled, 
And  soon  the  space  about  the  maid 
With  antlered  kings  was  filled. 

Through  moss  and  fern  and  tangled  trees 
Twelve  panting  creatures  broke, 

And  bending  low  their  stately  knees 
They  knelt  beneath  the  yoke. 

Now  harnessed  in  the  horses'  stead 
The  great  Stags  strained  their  best, 

To  please  the  Lady  at  their  head 
And  follow  her  behest. 

But  lo !  a  vexing  thing  then  happed ; 
Scarce  had  they  gained  the  road, 


74  BALLAD  OF 

The  rusty  chains  of  iron  snapped 
Beneath  the  heavy  load. 

Yet  paused  she  not  in  weak  despair, 

This  noble-hearted  maid, 
But  loosed  her  heavy  golden  hair 

Out  from  its  double  braid. 

She  loosed  her  locks  so  wonder-bright 
And  shook  them  to  the  breeze ;  — 

It  seemed  a  beam  of  yellow  light 
Had  sifted  through  the  trees. 

Then  from  amid  this  golden  net 
She  plucked  some  silken  strands, 

And  where  the  chains  had  first  been  set 
She  bound  them  with  her  hands. 

She  tied  the  ends  against  the  strain, 
And  knotted  them  with  care, 

Then  bade  the  Stags  pull  once  again 
Upon  the  ropes  of  hair. 

And  lo !  the  slender  harness  held, 
And  lo !  the  antlered  steeds 

Went  forth  to  prove  their  generous  love 
Lent  to  a  maiden's  needs. 


SAINT  ATHRACTA'S   STAGS    75 

Straight  to  the  King  her  gift  they  bore 
To  fill  his  heart  with  shame  ; 

And  her  true  maiden  went  before 
To  show  him  whence  they  came. 

Now  when  the  King  this  wonder  saw 

He  turned  all  pale  and  red, 
"  She  hath  a  greater  power  than  law," 
He  vowed,  and  bowed  his  head. 

"  She  hath  a  greater  power  than  I, 

Whose  slaves  the  wild  stags  be, 
And  golden  hair  like  this  might  snare 
E'en  the  wild  heart  of  me. 

"  No  need  to  her  of  castles  stout, 

No  need  of  moat  or  tower, 
With  antlered  guardians  about 
Her  lonely  wild-wood  bower. 

"  No  need  to  her  of  watch  or  ward, 

With  friends  like  these  at  hand ; 
Bid  her  from  me  henceforth  to  be 
Queen  of  her  little  land. 

"  Henceforth  she  is  no  serf  of  mine, 
Nor  subject  to  my  throne ; 


y6     SAINT   ATHRACTA'S   STAGS 

Where'er  her  golden  hair  may  shine 
That  is  her  realm  alone." 

So  where  the  seven  cross-roads  met 

Still  dwelt  the  holy  maid, 
Her  hut  a  place  of  refuge  set 

For  all  who  shelter  prayed. 

Her  realm  a  holy  place  of  peace, 
Where,  with  the  ancient  nags, 

Lived  out  their  days  in  pleasant  ways 
Athracta's  faithful  Stags. 


SAINT  KENTIGERN  & 
THE  ROBIN  *  *  >  >  * 

ONCE  upon  a  time  Saint  Servan  kept 
a  school  near  Glasgow  in  Scotland, 
and  many  boys,  big  and  little,  came 
there  to  study.  Now  of  all  these  boys  there 
was  one  who  surpassed  the  rest  in  everything 
that  makes  a  good  scholar.  Kentigern  was 
one  of  the  smallest  boys  in  the  school,  and 
yet  he  stood  at  the  head  of  all  his  classes.  It 
was  Kentigern  who  found  the  answer  to  the 
knottiest  problem,  and  who  read  off  the  hard- 
est passages  of  Latin  when  no  one  else  was 
able  to  make  sense  of  them.  It  was  Ken- 
tigern who  learned  his  lessons  first  and  who 
recited  them  best.  It  was  Kentigern  who 
sang  the  loudest  and  was  never  off  the  pitch ; 
and  good  Saint  Servan  loved  him  best  of  all 
his  pupils. 

For  all  these  reasons,  and  for  several  more 
like  them,  the  other  boys  were  jealous  of 
Kentigern  and  did  everything  they  could  to 
trouble  him  and  make  him  unhappy.  They 
tried  to  make  him  fail  in  his  lessons  by  talk- 
ing and  laughing  when  it  was  his  turn  to  re- 


78  SAINT   KENTIGERN 

cite.  But  this  was  a  useless  trick ;  his  answers 
were  always  ready,  so  they  had  to  give  this 
up.  They  teased  him  and  called  him  names, 
trying  to  make  him  lose  his  temper  so  that 
he  would  be  punished.  But  he  was  too  good- 
natured  to  be  cross  with  them ;  so  they  had 
to  give  this  up.  They  tried  to  coax  him  into 
mischief  and  lead  him  do  something  which 
would  make  Saint  Servan  angry  with  him. 
But  Kentigern  loved  his  master  too  well  to 
do  anything  to  trouble  him.  So  the  boys 
had  finally  to  give  this  up  also. 

There  was  only  one  way  to  bring  Kenti- 
gern into  disgrace.  They  must  plan  a  trap, 
and  make  him  fall  into  it.  For  weeks  they 
racked  their  brains  trying  to  think  what  they 
should  do ;  but  at  last  they  thought  they  had 
hit  upon  a  plan. 

It  was  all  concerned  with  a  fire.  In  those 
days  there  were  no  matches  with  which  to 
strike  a  light  in  a  second.  Matches  had  not 
been  invented  in  the  year  600,  nor  indeed 
for  many  centuries  afterwards.  Their  way  of 
making  a  fire  was  by  rubbing  two  dry  sticks 
together  until  they  grew  hot  and  a  spark  fell 
out  upon  the  wood  which  was  to  be  kindled. 


AND  THE  ROBIN  79 

And  this  was  a  very  difficult  and  tiresome 
thing  to  do,  especially  in  the  winter  when 
there  were  few  dry  sticks  to  be  found.  So 
the  fire  which  was  kept  burning  night  and 
day  in  the  great  fireplace  of  Saint  Servan's 
school  was  tended  carefully,  and  it  would  be 
a  very  serious  thing  to  let  this  go  out.  For 
how  would  the  breakfast  be  cooked,  and  the 
rooms  warmed,  and  the  candles  lighted  for 
the  morning  service  in  the  chapel  if  there 
were  no  fire  on  the  great  hearth  ? 

So  for  a  week  at  a  time  the  boys  had  to 
take  turns  in  tending  the  fire ;  and  the  boy 
whose  turn  it  was  had  to  rise  at  midnight  and 
put  on  wood  enough  to  keep  the  blaze  bright 
until  morning.  And  oh !  how  angry  Saint 
Servan  would  be  with  any  boy  who  was  so 
careless  as  to  let  the  fire  go  out  in  the  night. 

Now  it  was  Kentigern's  week  to  tend  the 
fire ;  and  for  several  days  he  did  tend  it  faith- 
fully. But  the  boys  were  waiting  for  a  chance 
to  play  their  mean  trick.  On  the  fourth  night 
Kentigern  rose  as  the  chapel  clock  boomed 
"  twelve  ! "  and  went  down  to  the  kitchen  to 
give  the  hungry  fire  its  midnight  lunch  of 
snappy  wood.  But  as  soon  as  he  stepped 


8o  SAINT  KENTIGERN 

into  the  great  empty  hall  he  knew  something 
was  wrong.  Br-r-r !  The  air  was  damp  and 
chilly,  and  there  was  no  crimson  glow  on  the 
hearthstones.  Kentigern  shivered  and  ran  to 
the  fireplace,  peering  into  the  black  cavern. 
There  was  nothing  but  a  heap  of  white  ashes 
and  half-burnt  wood ! 

Then  Kentigern's  heart  sank,  for  he  knew 
he  should  be  blamed  for  carelessness,  although 
he  suspected  that  some  one  had  thrown  water 
on  the  fire  and  put  it  out.  And  he  guessed 
that  it  was  the  other  boys  who  had  done  this 
spiteful  thing  to  bring  him  into  trouble.  He 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  But  a  sudden 
courage  came  to  him.  He  took  up  a  log  of 
wood  from  the  corner  and  laid  it  on  the  heap 
of  ashes.  Then  bending  down  he  blew  gently 
on  the  pile.  And  oh,  wonderful  to  say!  It 
was  as  if  he  had  scratched  a  dozen  cards  of 
matches  and  had  touched  them  to  a  pile  of 
paper.  Hardly  had  his  breath  stirred  the 
ashes  and  made  the  moss  shiver  on  the  great 
log,  when  the  whole  fireplace  was  filled  with 
dancing  flames,  and  the  wood  began  to  snap 
and  crack  in  the  best  kind  of  a  blaze.  Ken- 
tigern laughed  softly  to  himself  as  he  stole 


AND  THE  ROBIN  81 

back  to  bed,  and  said  never  a  word  to  the 
sleeping  boys  who  had  tried  to  make  mis- 
chief for  him. 

When  they  woke  in  the  morning  they 
began  to  chuckle  and  nudge  one  another, 
expecting  every  moment  to  see  Saint  Servan 
come  frowning  in  search  of  the  careless  Ken- 
tigern.  And  every  boy  was  ready  to  declare 
that  the  fire  was  burning  brightly  when  he 
went  to  bed,  and  that  Kentigern  had  forgot- 
ten to  go  down  and  tend  it  at  midnight.  But 
they  were  prevented  from  telling  this  false- 
hood. For  the  bell  rang  as  usual  for  break- 
fast, and  down  they  all  went  to  find  a  beauti- 
ful fire  burning  on  the  hearth,  and  Kentigern 
going  with  his  taper  to  light  the  chapel 
candelabra.  They  did  not  know  how  it 
had  happened  till  long,  long  afterwards  when 
Kentigern  had  made  many  other  wonders 
come  to  pass,  and  when  he  was  known  far 
and  wide  as  a  Saint  even  wiser  than  Servan 
his  master. 

But  meanwhile  the  boys  hated  him  more 
than  ever,  when  they  saw  how  much  better 
Saint  Servan  loved  him  every  day.  And 
once  more  they  planned  to  bring  him  into 


82  SAINT  KENTIGERN 

disgrace.  But  this  time  it  was  an  even  more 
cruel  thing  which  they  meant  to  do.  For  if 
they  succeeded  it  would  not  only  cause 
Kentigern  to  be  punished  and  make  Saint 
Servan  unhappy,  but  it  would  cost  the  life 
of  an  innocent  little  creature  who  never  had 
done  any  .harm  to  a  single  one  of  them. 

Saint  Servan  was  a  kind-hearted  old  man, 
and  he  had  a  Robin  Redbreast  of  which  he 
was  very  fond,  —  a  black-eyed  fellow  who  ate 
his  breakfast  out  of  the  Saint's  hand.  And 
when  the  master  chanted  the  Psalms  the  little 
chorister  would  perch  on  Servan's  shoulder 
and  flap  his  wings,  twittering  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  join  in  the  songs  of  praise. 

Now  one  morning  when  the  coast  was 
clear,  the  boys  killed  the  little  Redbreast  and 
pulled  off  his  head.  And  then  the  biggest 
boy  of  them  all  took  the  dead  bird  in  his 
hand,  and  followed  by  all  the  rest  ran  scream- 
ing to  Saint  Servan  himself  pretending  to 
feel  very  sorry. 

"  Oh  Father ! "  cried  the  Big  Boy,  "just  see 
what  the  wicked  Kentigern  has  done !  Look 
at  your  Robin  whom  Kentigern  has  killed !  " 

Then  they  all  began  to  cry  out  against 


AND  THE  ROBIN  83 

Kentigern,  and  some  even  declared  that  they 
had  seen  him  do  the  wicked  deed ;  which  was 
a  horrid  story,  and  their  tongues  must  have 
smarted  well  as  they  spoke  it. 

Of  course  Saint  Servan  was  very  sad  and 
angry.  He  tenderly  took  the  little  limp  body 
in  his  hand  and  went  to  seek  Kentigern,  the 
other  boys  tiptoeing  after  him  to  see  the  fun. 
And  by  and  by  they  came  upon  him  in  a 
window  bending  over  a  big  book  which  he 
was  studying.  Saint  Servan  strode  up  to  him 
and  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Look  at  this,  boy,"  he  cried  with  a  sad 
voice,  "  look  at  this  cruel  deed,  and  tell  me 
what  shall  be  done  to  punish  the  slayer  ?  Did 
I  not  love  the  Robin,  even  as  I  loved  you, 
ungrateful  boy ! " 

Kentigern  turned  quite  pale  with  surprise 
and  sorrow,  and  the  tears  came  into  his 
eyes. 

"  Oh,  the  dear  little  bird,"  he  said.  "  Did 
I  not  love  him  too  *?  Who  has  killed  him, 
Father  ?  " 

"  You  did,  you  did ;  we  saw  you  ! "  cried 
all  the  boys  in  a  chorus. 

Kentigern  turned  and  looked  at  them  in 


84  SAINT   KENTIGERN 

astonishment.  He  did  not  say  a  word,  but 
his  cheeks  grew  red  and  his  eyes  flashed. 
This  was  more  than  even  his  patience  could 
stand. 

"Well,  what  have  you  to  say  for  your- 
self?" queried  Saint  Servan  sternly.  Kenti- 
gern  turned  to  him  sadly. 

"  Oh  Father ! "  he  said,  "  how  can  you  be- 
lieve that  I  would  do  such  a  cruel  thing,  to 
hurt  the  bird  and  to  make  you  sad  *?  I  did 
not  do  it,  Father." 

*'  Can  you  prove  it  ?  "  asked  Saint  Servan 
still  more  sternly,  for  he  thought  the  boy  was 
telling  a  falsehood  to  hide  his  guilt. 

"  Give  me  the  Robin,  Father,"  said  Kenti- 
gern,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I  will  prove  that 
it  was  not  this  hand  which  cowardly  used  so 
small  a  thing  as  a  tiny  bird."  Then  holding 
the  limp  body  in  one  hand  and  the  downy 
head  in  the  other,  he  stood  before  them  all, 
looking  up  towards  heaven,  and  made  his 
little  prayer. 

"O  Father  in  heaven,"  he  said,  "prove 
to  my  dear  Father  on  earth  that  I  have  not 
done  this  cruel  thing.  If  I  am  innocent, 
give  me  power  to  undo  the  wrong  and  restore 


AND  THE  ROBIN 


SAINT  KENTIGERN  &  THE  ROBIN 

life  to  the  little  singer  who  loved  to  praise 
Thee  with  his  sweet  voice."  Then  gently  he 
set  the  head  in  place  where  it  should  be  and, 
as  his  tears  fell  upon  the  Robin's  neck,  it 


86  SAINT  KENTIGERN 

seemed  to  grow  again  to  the  body.  The 
feathers  ruffled  and  the  limp  wings  fluttered 
feebly;  the  black  eyes  opened,  and  out  of 
the  bill  came  a  little  chirp.  Then  the  Robin 
hopped  out  of  Kentigern's  hands  and  across 
the  floor  to  Saint  Servan's  feet,  and  flew  up 
on  his  master's  shoulder.  There  he  sat  and 
sang  such  a  carol  of  joy  as  made  the  great  hall 
ring  again.  But  all  the  guilty  boys  put  their 
fingers  in  their  ears  and  turned  pale,  as  if  they 
understood  what  he  was  saying,  and  as  if  it 
told  the  truth  about  their  jealousy  and  their 
cruelty  and  their  falsehood. 

So  Saint  Servan  learned  that  Kentigern 
was  innocent,  and  saw  how  it  had  all  hap- 
pened. The  real  culprits  were  severely  pun- 
ished. But  Kentigern  became  even  dearer 
than  before  to  his  master,  who  helped  him  in 
every  way  to  become  the  great  and  famous 
Saint  he  afterwards  was.  And  the  Robin  was 
another  fond  and  faithful  friend.  For  the 
bird  seemed  never  to  forget  that  Kentigern 
had  restored  his  life,  and  always  sang  his 
sweetest  song  for  the  boy. 

You  may  be  sure  that  after  this  the  boys 
gave  up  trying  to  get  the  better  of  Kenti- 


AND  THE  ROBIN  87 

gern.  They  had  learned  that  lesson,  and 
thenceforth  they  were  more  kind  and  re- 
spectful to  a  boy  over  whom  some  kind 
Power  seemed  to  keep  special  charge. 


SAINT  BLAISE  AND  HIS 
BEASTS  ****>>> 

THIS  is  the  story  of  a  Saint  who  loved 
all  animals  and  whom  the  animals 
therefore  loved  in  return. 
Saint  Blaise  was  the  son  of  wealthy  people 
in  Sebaste,  a  town  of  Armenia  near  Turkey, 
in  the  days  when  it  was  fashionable  to  be  a 
heathen.  He  was  not  like  the  other  boys,  his 
playmates,  for  he  was  a  Christian,  full  of  sym- 
pathy for  everything  that  lived.  More  than 
all  things  he  longed  to  learn  how  to  help  the 
creatures  that  he  loved,  —  men  and  women, 
the  children,  the  dumb  beasts,  and  everything 
that  suffered  and  was  sick.  So  he  went  to 
school  and  studied  medicine;  and  by  and 
by  he  grew  up  to  be  a  wise  man  with  a  big, 
tender  heart.  Every  one  loved  him,  for  he  did 
great  good  among  the  people  of  his  village, 
tending  their  children  and  healing  their  cattle 
and  household  pets. 

Nor  did  he  neglect  even  the  wild  beasts. 
For  Saint  Blaise  loved  to  go  away  into  the 
woods  and  fields  where  he  could  learn  about 
the  untamed  creatures  and  teach  them  to  be 


SAINT   BLAISE  89 

his  friends.  The  birds  and  beasts  and  fishes 
grew  to  love  him  because  he  never  hurt  them, 
but  talked  to  them  kindly  and  healed  them 
when  they  were  sick  or  wounded.  The  timid 
creatures  were  brave  in  his  presence,  and  the 
fierce  ones  grew  tame  and  gentle  at  the  sound 
of  his  voice.  The  little  birds  brought  him 
food,  and  the  four-footed  beasts  ran  errands 
and  were  his  messengers.  The  legends  say 
that  they  used  to  visit  him  in  his  forest  home, 
which  was  a  cave  on  Mount  Argus  near  the 
city  of  Sebaste.  Every  morning  they  came 
to  see  how  their  master  was  faring,  to  receive 
his  blessing  and  lick  his  hands  in  gratitude. 
If  they  found  the  Saint  at  his  prayers  they 
never  disturbed  him,  but  waited  in  a  patient, 
wistful  group  at  the  door  of  his  cave  until  he 
rose  from  his  knees. 

One  day  a  poor  woman  came  to  him  in 
great  distress  because  a  wolf  had  carried 
away  her  pig.  Saint  Blaise  was  sorry  to  hear 
that  one  of  his  friends  had  done  so  wicked 
a  thing.  He  bade  the  woman  go  home,  and 
said  he  would  see  what  could  be  done.  He 
called  the  Wolf  up  to  him  and  shook  his  head 
gravely  at  the  culprit. 


90  SAINT  BLAISE 

"  You  bad  Wolf! "  he  said.  "  Don't  you 
know  that  the  Pig  was  a  friend  of  mine,  too  ? 
He  is  not  handsome,  but  he  is  nice  and 
plump ;  and  he  is  the  only  pig  of  a  poor, 
lone  woman.  How  could  you  be  so  selfish  *? 
Go  straight  home  and  get  my  friend  Pig, 
and  drive  him  down  to  the  woman's  house." 
Then  the  Wolf  went  sheepishly  away,  and 
did  what  the  good  Saint  had  told  him  to  do ; 
for  the  Pig  had  not  yet  been  made  into  pork. 
And  when  the  poor  woman  saw  the  Pig  run 
grunting  into  her  yard,  chased  by  the  repent- 
ant Wolf,  she  fell  upon  his  fat  neck  and  wept 
tears  of  joy.  Then  the  Wolf  went  back  to 
Saint  Blaise,  who  told  him  he  was  a  good 
wolf,  and  gave  him  a  dish  of  fresh  milk  to 
cool  his  throat. 

Saint  Blaise  was  chosen  Bishop  by  the 
Christians  who  loved  him  for  his  piety  and 
his  charity.  And  the  wood-beasts  were  glad 
of  this  honor  done  to  their  dear  master.  But 
the  poor  creatures  did  not  know  how  dan- 
gerous it  was  to  be  a  Christian  in  those  days, 
and  especially  to  be  a  Bishop  who  had  much 
power  over  the  people.  For  the  heathen 
were  jealous  of  him,  and  feared  that  he  would 


AND  HIS  BEASTS  91 

make  all  the  people  Christians  too,  when 
they  saw  the  wonderful  cures  which  his  medi- 
cines made.  But  they  could  not  find  him,  for 
he  was  living  in  his  forest  cave. 

This  was  316  years  after  Christ's  birth,  and 
the  cruel  Emperor  Licinius  was  causing  many 
Christians  to  be  killed.  Agricola  was  the 
governor  whom  Licinius  had  appointed  in 
Sebaste,  and  he  sent  his  soldiers  into  the 
mountains  to  get  some  wild  beasts  for  the 
games  in  the  arena,  where  the  Christians 
were  to  be  put  to  death.  But  they  could  not 
find  any  beasts  at  all  in  the  mountains,  or  in 
the  fields,  or  valleys,  or  woods.  They  thought 
this  very  strange.  But  by  and  by  they  came 
by  accident  to  the  cave  where  Saint  Blaise 
lived. 

And  there  were  the  animals,  all  the  fierce 
beasts  whom  they  feared;  lions,  tigers,  leop- 
ards, bears,  and  wolves,  making  their  morn- 
ing call  upon  Saint  Blaise  and  sitting  qui- 
etly about.  In  the  midst  was  Blaise  himselfj 
praying  so  earnestly  that  he  never  noticed  the 
men  with  nets  and  spears  who  had  come  to 
entrap  the  beasts.  Although  the  creatures 
were  frightened  they  did  not  move  nor  growl 


92  SAINT  BLAISE 

for  fear  of  disturbing  their  master,  but  kept 
quite  still,  glaring  at  the  soldiers  with  big 
yellow  eyes.  The  men  were  so  astonished  at 
the  sight  that  they  stole  away  without  cap- 
turing an  animal  or  saying  a  word  to  Saint 
Blaise,  for  they  thought  he  must  be  Orpheus 
or  some  heathen  god  who  charmed  wild 
beasts.  They  went  to  the  Governor  and  told 
him  what  they  had  seen,  and  he  said,  — 

"Ho!  I  know  he  is  a  Christian.  The 
Christians  and  the  beasts  are  great  friends. 
Go  and  bring  htm  to  me  straightway." 

And  this  time  the  soldiers  went  in  the 
afternoon  when  the  animals  were  taking  their 
after-dinner  nap.  So  they  found  Saint  Blaise 
quite  alone,  again  at  his  devotions.  They 
told  him  he  must  come  with  them ;  but  in- 
stead of  being  frightened  he  said  joyfully, 
"I  am  ready,  I  have  long  expected  you." 
For  he  was  a  holy  man  willing  to  die  for  his 
faith,  and  holy  men  often  knew  what  was 
going  to  happen  to  them. 

It  was  on  his  way  to  prison  that  Saint 
Blaise  cured  his  last  patient,  —  a  sick  child 
whose  mother  brought  him  to  the  holy  man's 
feet  begging  help.  The  child  had  swallowed 


AND  HIS   BEASTS  93 

a  bone  and  was  choking  to  death,  poor  little 
thing.  But  Saint  Blaise  touched  the  baby's 
throat  and  the  trouble  was  gone.  This  is  why 
in  olden  times  people  with  sore  throats  always 
prayed  to  Saint  Blaise  to  make  them  well. 

The  good  Bishop  was  put  in  prison.  And 
after  that  they  tortured  him,  trying  to  make 
him  promise  not  to  be  a  Christian  any  longer. 
But  Saint  Blaise  refused  to  become  a  heathen 
and  to  sacrifice  to  the  gods.  And  so  they 
determined  that  he  must  die.  They  would 
have  put  him  in  the  arena  with  the  wild 
beasts,  but  they  knew  that  these  faithful 
creatures  would  not  harm  their  friend.  The 
beasts  could  not  save  him  from  the  cruel 
men,  but  at  least  they  would  not  do  anything 
to  hurt  him.  Those  which  were  still  left  in 
the  forest  howled  and  moaned  about  his  de- 
serted cave,  and  went  sniffing  and  searching 
for  him  everywhere,  like  stray  dogs  who  have 
lost  their  master.  It  was  a  sad  day  for  the 
wood-creatures  when  Saint  Blaise  was  taken 
from  them  forever. 

The  soldiers  were  told  to  drown  Saint 
Blaise  in  the  neighboring  lake.  But  he  made 
the  sign  of  the  Cross  as  they  cast  him  from 


94  SAINT   BLAISE 

the  boat,  and  the  water  bore  him  up,  so  that 
he  walked  upon  it  as  if  it  were  a  floor,  just 
as  Christ  did  once  upon  the  sea  of  Galilee. 
When  the  soldiers  tried  to  do  the  same,  how- 
ever, thinking  to  follow  and  recapture  him, 
they  sank  and  were  drowned.  At  last  of  his 
own  free  will  Saint  Blaise  walked  back  to 
the  shore,  clothed  in  light  and  very  beautiful 
to  look  upon ;  for  he  was  ready  and  eager  to 
die.  He  let  the  heathen  seize  him,  and  soon 
after  this  was  beheaded. 

In  very  old  times  it  used  to  be  the  custom 
in  England  on  the  third  of  February  to  light 
great  bonfires  on  all  the  hills,  —  blazes  in 
honor  of  his  name. 

And  we  can  well  believe  that  all  the  little 
animals  came  out  of  their  dens  and  burrows 
and  nests  at  the  sight  of  these  fires,  and 
thought  with  loving  hearts  of  the  dear  old 
Saint  who  so  many  years  ago  used  to  be  kind 
to  their  ancestors,  the  beasts  in  the  forests  of 
Armenia. 


SAINT    CUTHBERT'S 
PEACE  >*>>*** 

SAINT  CUTHBERT  was  a  Scotch 
shepherd  boy  who  tended  his  flocks 
along  the  river  Tweed  near  Melrose. 
Night  and  day  he  lived  in  the  open  air, 
drinking  in  the  sunshine  and  sleeping  on  the 
heather.  And  he  grew  up  big  and  strong  and 
handsome,  —  the  finest  lad  in  all  that  part  of 
the  country.  He  could  run  faster  than  any 
one,  and  was  always  the  champion  in  the 
wrestling  matches  to  which  he  challenged 
the  village  boys  for  miles  around.  And  you 
should  have  seen  him  turn  somersaults  and 
walk  on  his  hands !  No  one  in  all  the  world 
could  beat  him  at  that  Saint  Cuthbert  lived 
more  than  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  yet  the 
people  of  Scotland  still  tell  tales  of  his 
strength  and  agility  and  grace  in  games  with 
the  other  boys.  He  was  their  leader  and 
chief,  and  every  one  was  sure  that  he  would 
grow  up  to  be  a  famous  man. 

But  he  tended  his  sheep  faithfully  until 
the  time  came.  For  he  was  growing  and 
learning  all  the  while.  In  his  happy  outdoor 


96     SAINT   CUTHBERT'S   PEACE 

life  he  became  wise  in  many  things  which 
other  people  never  know.  He  found  the 
secret  of  the  whispering  wind,  and  the  song 
of  the  brook.  He  knew  what  the  chatter  of 
the  squirrels  meant,  and  the  caw  of  the  crows. 
He  learned  the  ways  of  all  the  little  bright- 
eyed  animals  whom  he  met  in  his  walks  over 
the  hills  of  heather;  and  he  grew  to  love 
every  creature  which  has  fur  or  feathers  and 
goes  upon  four  legs  or  on  two.  Especially  he 
loved  the  birds.  He  used  to  watch  them  for 
hours  together,  the  little  larks  gurgling  up 
and  trilling  down  again ;  the  great  gulls 
swooping  and  curling  and  sailing  like  white 
ships  in  the  blue  sea  of  sky.  And  he  longed, 
oh!  how  he  longed  to  have  wings  and  to 
flutter  and  float  away  like  the  birds. 

One  night  while  he  lay  watching  his  sheep 
upon  the  pink  heather  which  bears  you  up 
like  a  springy  cushion,  he  saw  a  strange  thing 
in  the  sky.  There  seemed  a  great  pathway 
of  light,  and  down  it  a  band  of  angels  came 
from  heaven,  clothed  all  in  rainbow  glory. 
And  in  a  little  while  he  saw  them  mounting 
back  again,  bearing  a  beautiful  blossom 
among  them.  And  he  guessed  that  it  was 


SAINT   CUTHBERT'S   PEACE     97 


SAINT  CUTHBERT'S  VISION 

the  soul  of  some  holy  man,  being  carried  to 
Paradise. 

Sure  enough,  the  next  day  the  news  went 
abroad  that  Aidan,  the  holy  Bishop  of  Lin- 


98     SAINT   CUTHRERT'S   PEACE 

disfarne,  had  died  that  very  night.  Then 
Cuthbert  knew  that  he,  a  little  shepherd  boy, 
had  been  blessed  to  see  a  holy  vision.  He 
wondered  why ;  but  he  felt  sure  that  it  meant 
some  special  grace  to  him.  Day  after  day, 
night  after  night,  he  thought  about  it,  won- 
dering and  wondering.  And  at  last  he  made 
up  his  mind  that  he,  too,  would  become  a 
holy  man,  and  then  perhaps  he  should  find 
out  all  about  it. 

He  was  fifteen  years  old  when  he  came  to 
Melrose  Abbey  to  be  made  a  monk.  And 
there  he  lived  and  grew  rich  with  the  wisdom 
of  books ;  which,  added  to  the  wisdom  of  the 
woods  and  hills  and  streams  which  he  already 
possessed,  made  him  a  very  wise  man  indeed. 

He  had  not  been  there  long  before  every 
one,  even  the  Abbot  himself,  saw  that  this 
glorious  young  monk  was  the  most  powerful 
of  them  all.  Every  one  obeyed  and  rever- 
enced him.  Every  one  came  to  ask  his  advice 
and  help.  Every  one  sent  for  him  in  time  of 
trouble.  With  his  beautiful  face  and  strong 
body,  his  kind  eyes  and  great  hands  tender 
as  a  woman's  to  touch  a  little  sick  child,  he 
was  loved  by  the  people  in  all  the  country 


SAINT  CUTHBERT'S   PEACE    99 

around.  For  he  had  the  great  gift  of  sym- 
pathy. In  those  years  while  he  had  lived 
under  the  kind,  hot  sun  his  heart  had  grown 
mellow  and  soft  like  a  ripe  apple. 

Many  of  the  people  in  the  far-off  hills  and 
lonely  Scotch  moorlands  were  like  savages, 
wild  and  timid,  hating  every  stranger.  But 
the  hearts  of  these  poor  children  of  the  hea- 
ther warmed  to  the  big  brother  who  came 
among  them  with  love  shining  in  his  eyes 
and  a  desire  to  help  them.  He  used  to 
trudge  into  the  wildest,  most  distant  places 
to  reach  them,  to  teach  and  comfort  them. 
He  was  always  carrying  food  and  clothing 
to  the  poor  and  medicine  to  the  sick,  for  he 
could  not  bear  to  see  others  suffer.  But  he 
was  not  afraid  of  suffering  himself. 

One  thing  Cuthbert  used  to  do  which 
showed  how  strong  and  healthy  he  was. 
Even  until  he  grew  to  be  quite  an  old  man 
he  used  to  take  a  bath  in  the  sea  every  day 
of  his  life.  No  matter  how  cold  it  was  he 
would  plunge  into  the  waves  and  come  out 
all  dripping  upon  the  frozen  beach,  where  he 
would  always  kneel  and  say  a  little  prayer 
before  going  home. 


ioo    SAINT   CUTHBERT'S   PEACE 

One  bitter  night  in  winter  as  Cuthbert 
knelt  thus  in  the  snow  after  his  plunge,  blue 
with  cold,  two  brown  otters  came  up  out  of 
the  sea  and  stole  to  Cuthbert's  side.  And  as 
he  prayed,  not  noticing  them  at  all,  they 
licked  his  poor  frozen  feet,  trying  to  warm 
them,  and  rubbed  against  him  with  their 
thick,  soft  fur  till  he  was  dry  again.  Thus 
the  water-creatures  did  their  little  best  for 
him  who  loved  them  and  who  had  done  so 
much  for  others. 

When  the  Abbot  Boswell  died  Cuthbert 
became  head  of  the  Abbey  in  his  place.  But 
after  twelve  years  of  living  indoors  with  the 
other  monks  he  could  bear  it  no  longer.  For 
he  longed  to  get  out  into  the  fresh  air  and 
under  the  sky  once  more.  He  resolved  to 
become  a  hermit,  and  to  live  a  wild  outdoor 
life  with  the  birds  whom  he  loved. 

He  built  his  nest  on  a  wild  little  island 
named  Fame,  a  steep,  rocky  sea-mountain 
where  ten  or  fifteen  years  before  had  lived 
that  same  holy  Aidan  whose  passage  to  hea- 
ven he  had  witnessed  when  he  was  a  shep- 
herd boy  at  Melrose.  The  nest  was  really  a 
hole  in  the  ground  —  you  know  some  birds 


SAINT   CUTHBERT'S   PEACE     101 

build  so.  He  dug  himself  a  round  cell  in  the 
rock,  the  roof  having  a  window  open  to  his 
dear  sky.  The  walls  were  of  turf  and  stone 
and  it  was  thatched  with  straw.  There  were 
two  rooms,  one  where  he  lived  and  slept  and 
cooked ;  the  other  for  his  little  chapel,  where 
he  sang  praises  like  any  bird  and  sat  for  hours 
thinking  holy  thoughts.  Before  the  door  he 
hung  an  ox-hide,  and  this  was  his  only  pro- 
tection from  the  winds  of  the  sea.  He  found 
a  spring  in  the  rock  and  this  supplied  him 
with  water ;  and  he  planted  a  plot  of  barley 
which  yielded  him  food. 

Thus  he  lived,  alone  with  the  birds  which 
swarmed  about  the  rock.  The  winds  swept 
over  him  and  the  waves  curled  and  broke 
almost  at  the  door  of  his  hut,  but  he  did  not 
care.  Indeed,  the  sea  was  a  rough  friend  to 
him.  Once  when  by  mistake  it  came  too  near 
and  washed  away  part  of  the  cottage,  Cuth- 
bert  sent  to  his  brother  monks  on  the  main- 
land, asking  them  to  bring  him  a  beam  to 
prop  up  the  roof,  for  there  was  no  wood  on 
his  rocky  isle.  But  this  the  brothers  forgot 
to  do.  The  sea,  however,  seemed  sorry  for 
having  been  so  careless,  and  at  the  next  high 


io2     SAINT  CUTHBERT'S  PEACE 

tide  it  washed  up  at  the  Saint's  feet  the  beam 
he  wished. 

He  did  not  lack  for  friends.  For,  as  soon 
as  he  made  this  island  rock  his  home,  it  be- 
came the  haunt  of  every  kind  of  bird.  The 
other  animals  could  not  reach  him  from  the 
shore,  poor  things.  But  the  blessed  wings  of 
the  gulls  and  curlews,  the  eider-ducks  and 
the  ravens,  bore  them  to  their  Master  in  his 
retreat. 

"Hi!"  they  said  to  one  another,  "we 
have  got  him  to  ourselves  now.  Those  poor, 
featherless  creatures  can't  come  here,  neither 
can  he  get  away,  without  wings.  He  is  all 
our  own  now ! " 

This  was  not  quite  true,  for  they  forgot 
that  though  men  cannot  fly  they  make  boats 
with  wings,  and  so  can  cross  the  sea.  Cuth- 
bert  often  went  ashore  to  do  errands  of  mercy, 
in  peasants'  huts  and  in  the  Queen's  palace. 
And  many  people  came  to  see  him  also,  be- 
cause his  fame  had  spread  over  the  kingdom. 
He  made  them  welcome  to  the  house  which 
he  had  built  for  his  guests  as  far  as  possible 
from  his  own  solitary  cell.  He  loved  them, 
and  helped  them  when  he  could.  But  after 


SAINT   CUTHBERT'S   PEACE     103 

all,  the  birds  were  his  dearest  friends,  and  he 
liked  best  to  be  alone  with  them. 

They  would  come  and  sit  upon  his  shoul- 
ders and  knees  and  let  him  take  them  up  and 
caress  them.  They  followed  him  in  flocks 
when  he  went  to  walk.  They  watched  at  the 
door  of  his  hut  and  ate  breakfast,  dinner,  and 
supper  with  him.  Many  people  believed  that 
every  day  the  birds  brought  him  food  from 
Paradise,  but  this  story  arose,  as  so  many 
false  stories  do,  from  another  thing  that  really 
happened.  For  once  when  some  blackbirds 
thoughtlessly  stole  his  barley  and  some  of  the 
straw  from  his  roof,  Cuthbert  scolded  them, 
and  bade  them  never  to  do  so  again.  It  made 
the  birds  ashamed,  and  to  show  that  they 
were  sorry  they  brought  him  a  great  lump 
of  suet.  He  did  not  eat  it,  however,  as  they 
expected  he  would,  but  used  it  to  grease  his 
shoes  with,  and  it  lasted  a  long  time. 

Now  Cuthbert  loved  all  these  birds  dearly, 
especially  the  unselfish  eider-duck  who  picks 
the  down  from  her  own  breast  to  make  a 
softer  bed  for  her  little  ones.  He  was  kind 
to  them  and  they  had  no  fear  of  him.  But 
he  dreaded  lest  after  he  was  gone  others 


104     SAINT   CUTHBERT'S   PEACE 

should  be  less  kind  to  his  pets.  So  to  protect 
them  he  made  a  promise,  and  he  bequeathed 
them  a  legacy,  the  gift  of  Saint  Cuthberfs 
Peace.  He  promised  that  no  one  should  harm 
or  kill  them  on  that  island  without  being 
dreadfully  punished.  And  he  gave  them  this 
Peace  for  ever  and  ever.  So  that  thenceforth 
ill  befell  whoever  injured  one  of  Saint  Cuth- 
bert's  birds.  There  are  two  stories  to  prove 
this,  and  they  both  happened  long  after 
Cuthbert  was  gone  from  Fame. 

Now  Liveing  was  the  servant  of  ^Elric, 
the  hermit  who  next  dwelt  in  Cuthbert's  cell. 
And  one  day  while  ^Elric  was  gone  away  to 
the  mainland,  Liveing  killed  and  ate  one  of 
the  eider-ducks  who  still  lived  and  built  their 
nests  near  the  hut  where  the  Saint  had  lived. 
Liveing  knew  the  promise  of  Saint  Cuth- 
bert's Peace,  but  he  thought  that  no  one 
would  find  out  his  crime.  For  he  scattered 
the  bones  and  feathers  over  the  cliff,  and  saw 
them  washed  away  by  the  waves.  But  after 
^Elric,  his  master,  came  back,  he  found  a 
lump  of  bones  and  feathers  rolled  together 
and  cast  by  the  tide  upon  the  very  steps  of 
his  chapel.  For  even  the  sea  was  promised 


SAINT   CUTHBERT'S  PEACE     105 

to  Saint  Cuthbert's  Peace,  and  had  to  betray 
the  guilty  man.  So  Liveing  was  discovered 
and  punished. 

And  this  is  the  second  story.  The  birds 
themselves  were  bound  by  the  Peace  to  be 
kind  to  one  another.  The  big  birds  were  for- 
bidden to  hurt  or  kill  a  little  one.  And  this 
is  what  happened  to  a  great  hawk  who 
flapped  over  from  the  neighboring  island  of 
Lindisfarne  and  ate  up  the  tame  sparrow 
which  belonged  to  Bartholomew,  another 
hermit  who  lived  after  -^Elric  at  Fame.  For 
Saint  Cuthbert's  power  made  the  hawk  fly 
for  days  around  and  around  the  island,  never 
able  to  get  away,  never  able  to  stop,  though 
he  was  ready  to  drop  with  weariness  and 
hunger.  He  would  have  kept  on  flying  until 
now,  or  until  he  fell  into  the  sea  and  was 
drowned,  if  at  last  the  hermit  had  not  taken 
pity  upon  him.  Bartholomew  caught  the 
tired  hawk  by  his  wings  and  carried  him  to 
the  seashore,  and  there  in  Saint  Cuthbert's 
name  he  bade  him  fly  away,  and  never  come 
back  to  Fame  to  bother  him  and  his  peace- 
ful birds. 

So  Saint  Cuthbert  lived  on  his  island  sur- 


106     SAINT   CUTHBERT'S   PEACE 

rounded  by  his  feathered  friends.  He  never 
grew  proud,  though  every  one  loved  and 
reverenced  him  and  called  him  a  Saint.  He 
was  always  poor,  although  royal  ladies,  even 
the  Queen  herself  made  him  presents  of  gold 
and  jewels,  —  which  he  gave  away  to  the 
needy.  He  was  always  meek,  though  Eg- 
fried  the  King  himself  came  all  the  way  to 
Fame  to  make  him  a  grand  Bishop,  kneeling 
on  the  ground  before  Cuthbert  and  begging 
him  to  accept  the  gift.  His  life  was  like  a 
beacon  to  men,  burning  bright  and  clear. 
And  after  he  died  a  lighthouse  was  built  on 
his  rock  to  be  a  spark  of  hope  for  the  sailors 
at  sea. 

As  for  Saint  Cuthbert's  Peace,  it  still 
blesses  the  lonely  rock  of  Fame.  Flocks  of 
sea-birds  swarm  about  it,  descendants  of  those 
who  knew  the  Saint  himself.  They  are  tame 
and  gentle  and  suspect  no  harm  from  any  one, 
for  have  they  not  the  promise  of  their  Saint  ? 
Alas !  Men  less  kindly  than  he  have  forgot- 
ten the  promise  and  have  broken  the  Peace. 
They  have  killed  many  of  the  trusting  birds 
who  let  them  come  up  close  and  take  them 
in  their  hands,  expecting  to  be  petted.  For 


SAINT   CUTHBERT'S   PEACE     107 

the  birds  never  even  thought  to  run  away, 
poor,  innocent,  soft-eyed  creatures.  And  how 
cruelly  they  were  deceived ! 

But  I  am  sure  that  Saint  Cuthbert's  dread- 
ful charm  still  binds  the  murderers.  He  will 
not  forget  his  promise;  and  though  they 
may  not  be  punished  immediately,  as  Liveing 
was,  nor  suffer  like  the  wicked  hawk,  Saint 
Cuthbert  will  bring  sorrow  upon  their  heads 
at  last  and  misfortune  to  the  cruel  hands 
which  dare  to  hurt  his  birds. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  SAINT 
FELIX    ******* 


I 


T  was  in  sunny  Italy 

Where  skies  are  blue  and  fair, 
Where  little  birds  sing  all  the  day, 
And  flowers  scent  the  air. 


But  sorrow  was  through  all  the  land, 

And  bloody  deeds,  and  strife, 
For  the  cruel  heathen  Emperor 

Was  slaying  Christian  life. 

And  Nola  of  Campania 

Was  full  of  soldiers  grim, 
Who  sought  where  good  Saint  Felix  dwelt, 

To  be  the  death  of  him. 

For  he,  the  Bishop,  old  and  wise, 

Was  famous  far  and  near, 
And  to  the  troubled  Christian  folk 

His  name  was  passing  dear. 

Saint  Felix  would  not  run  away, 

But  thought  no  shame  to  hide 
Until  the  bloody  storm  passed  o'er, 

And  he  might  safely  bide. 


BALLAD  OF   SAINT   FELIX     109 

And  so  he  doffed  his  Bishop's  robe, 
And  donned  a  Pilgrim's  dress, 

With  hat  and  staff  and  sandal-shoon, 
So  none  his  name  would  guess. 

Now  as  Saint  Felix,  bent  and  gray, 
Was  tottering  down  the  street, 

A  band  of  soldiers,  fierce  and  wild, 
The  old  man  chanced  to  meet 

"  Ho !  Pilgrim,"  cried  the  Captain  stern, 
Who  stopped  him  with  his  sword, 

"  Answer  me  truly,  or  thy  life 
Shall  pay  the  lying  word. 

"  We  sought  for  Felix  at  his  home, 

We  find  him  not,  alas ! 
Say,  hast  thou  met  him,  for  within 
The  hour  he  did  pass  ? 

"  Say,  hast  thou  met  him  *?  Tell  us  true, 

Or  thou  shalt  lose  thy  head." 
Saint  Felix  looked  him  in  the  eyes, 
"  I  met  him  not,"  he  said. 

So  then  the  soldiers  let  him  pass,  — 
But  he  had  spoken  truth, — 


no    BALLAD   OF   SAINT   FELIX 

And  hurried  forward  on  their  search, 
A  fruitless  quest,  in  sooth ! 

And  good  Saint  Felix  hastened  too, 

As  quickly  as  he  might, 
For  they  would  guess  full  soon,  he  knew, 

How  he  had  tricked  their  sight 

And  truly,  ere  his  oaken  staff 

Had  helped  his  feeble  feet 
To  win  a  mile,  he  heard  their  shouts 

A-nearing  down  the  street. 

He  heard  the  clashing  of  their  swords, 

Their  voices'  cruel  roar, 
Alack !  the  chase  was  almost  done, 

For  he  could  speed  no  more. 

All  breathless,  worn,  and  clean  forspent 
He  looked  about  him  there; 

He  spied  a  tiny  ray  of  hope, 
And  made  a  little  prayer. 

There  was  a  broken,  ruined  wall 

That  crumbled  by  the  road, 
And  through  a  cleft  Saint  Felix  crept, 

And  in  a  corner  bode. 


BALLAD   OF  SAINT   FELIX     in 

It  was  a  sorry  hiding-place, 

That  scarce  could  hope  to  'scape 

The  keen  sight  of  those  bloody  men, 
For  murder  all  agape. 

But  lo  !  in  answer  to  his  prayer 

Made  in  the  Holy  Name, 
To  help  Saint  Felix  in  his  need 

A  little  spider  came. 

And  there  across  the  narrow  hole 
Through  which  Saint  Felix  fled, 

The  spider  spun  a  heavy  web 
Out  of  her  silken  thread. 

So  fast  she  spun,  so  faithfully, 
That  when  the  soldiers  came 

To  pause  beside  the  ruined  wall 
And  shout  the  Bishop's  name, 

They  found  a  silken  curtain  there 
Wherethrough  they  could  not  see ; 

And  "  Ho !  "  they  said,  "  he  is  not  here, 
Look,  look !  it  cannot  be ; 

"  No  one  has  passed  this  spider's  web 
For  many  and  many  a  day, 


ii2     BALLAD   OF   SAINT   FELIX 

See,  men,  how  it  is  thick  and  strong ; " 
And  so  they  went  away. 

And  this  is  how  Saint  Felix  fared 
To  'scape  the  threatened  doom, 

Saved  by  a  little  spider's  web, 
Spun  from  her  wondrous  loom. 

For  when  the  soldiers  all  had  passed 

It  luckily  befell, 
Among  the  ruins  of  the  walls 

He  found  a  half-dug  well. 

And  there  he  hid  for  many  months, 

Safe  from  the  eager  eyes 
Of  all  those  cruel  soldier-men 

And  money-seeking  spies. 

And  on  the  eve  when  this  thing  happed, 
It  chanced  a  Christian  dame 

Was  passing  by  the  ruined  wall 
Calling  her  Bishop's  name. 

For  well  she  knew  he  must  be  hid, 
And  came  to  bring  him  food ; 

And  so  he  answered  from  the  well, 
Saint  Felix,  old  and  good. 


BALLAD   OF   SAINT   FELIX     113 

And  for  the  many  weary  months 

She  came  there,  day  by  day, 
All  stealthily  to  bring  him  bread, 

So  no  one  guessed  the  way. 

And  when  at  last  the  peace  was  made, 

Saint  Felix  left  his  well. 
What  welcome  of  his  folk  he  had 

There  are  no  words  to  tell ! 


SAINT  FRONTO'S  CAM- 


THIS  is  a  story  of  Egypt.  In  the 
midst  of  a  great  yellow  sea  of  sand 
was  a  tiny  green  island  of  an  oasis. 
Everywhere  else  the  sunlight  burned  on  sand 
and  rocks  and  low,  bare  hills  to  the  west. 
But  here  there  was  shade  under  the  palm- 
trees,  and  a  spring  of  cool,  clear  water.  It 
seemed  a  pleasant  place,  but  the  men  who 
were  living  here  were  far  from  happy.  There 
was  grumbling  and  discontent;  there  were 
sulky  looks  and  frowns.  Yet  these  men  were 
trying  to  be  holy  hermits,  to  live  beautiful 
lives  and  forget  how  to  be  selfish.  But  it  is 
hard  to  be  good  when  one  is  starving. 

There  were  seventy  of  them  in  this  lonely 
camp  in  the  desert,  —  seventy  hungry  monks, 
who  for  many  days  had  had  only  a  few  olives 
to  eat.  And  they  blamed  one  man  for  all 
their  suffering.  It  was  Fronto  who  had  in- 
duced them  to  leave  the  pleasant  monastery 
at  Nitria,  where  the  rest  of  their  brethren 
were  living  in  peace  and  plenty.  It  was 
Fronto  who  had  led  them  into  this  miserable 


SAINT   FRONTO'S   CAMELS     115 

desert  to  serve  God  in  solitude,  as  holy  men 
loved  to  do  in  the  early  days  of  Christendom. 

Fronto  was  a  holy  man,  full  of  faith  and 
courage.  He  had  promised  that  they  should 
be  fed  and  cared  for  in  the  desert  even  though 
they  took  no  care  for  themselves,  and  they 
had  believed  him.  So  each  monk  took  a  few 
olives  in  his  pouch  and  a  double-pronged 
hoe  to  dig  and  plant  corn  with,  and  followed 
Fronto  into  the  desert. 

After  trudging  many  days  they  found 
this  spot,  far  to  the  east,  where  no  caravans 
would  come  to  interrupt  them,  for  it  was  out 
of  the  way  of  travel.  But  soon  also  they 
found  their  provisions  gone  and  no  others 
forthcoming.  What  were  they  to  do  ?  They 
asked  Fronto,  but  he  only  bade  them  be 
patient.  It  was  when  they  had  borne  the 
pangs  of  hunger  for  several  days  that  they 
began  to  grumble  and  talk  of  returning 
home.  But  Fronto  was  indignant.  "  The 
Lord  will  provide,"  he  said,  "  O  ye  of  little 
faith ! "  And  he  bade  them  go  to  work  and 
try  to  forget  their  hunger.  The  monks  drew 
the  cords  tighter  about  their  waists.  But  that 
did  little  good.  They  had  never  fasted  like 


n6     SAINT   FRONTO'S  CAMELS 

this  before !  Day  by  day  they  grew  more 
pale  and  thin,  and  their  long  robes  flapped 
about  their  lean  limbs.  The  few  dates  which 
grew  on  the  palm-trees  of  their  oasis  were 
long  since  eaten,  and  the  poor  monks  went 
about  chewing  the  knotted  ends  of  their  rope 
girdles,  trying  to  pretend  that  it  was  bread. 
Oh,  how  they  longed  for  even  a  bit  of  the 
hard  black  bread  which  was  Lenten  fare  at 
the  monastery  beyond  the  hills ! 

Day  by  day  they  grew  more  hollow- 
cheeked  and  despairing.  At  last  one  even- 
ing they  came  to  Fronto  in  a  body  —  such  a 
weak,  pale  body.  "  Take  us  back  to  Nitria, 
or  we  starve ! "  they  cried.  "  We  can  endure 
this  no  longer ! " 

Fronto  stood  before  them  even  more  pale 
and  worn  than  the  rest,  but  with  the  light  of 
beautiful  trust  in  his  eyes.  "  Wait  yet  a  little 
longer,  brothers,"  he  begged.  "  We  are  bid- 
den to  take  no  thought  to  the  morrow,  what 
we  shall  eat  and  drink  "  — 

"  Nay,  't  is  to-day  we  think  of,"  interrupted 
the  monks.  "  If  we  could  eat  to-day  we  would 
indeed  take  no  thought  of  the  morrow.  But 
we  starve ! " 


SAINT   FRONTO'S   CAMELS     117 

"Patience,  brothers,"  continued  the  Saint 
wearily.  "  If  we  return  now  we  shall  show 
that  we  distrust  God's  promise.  Wait  till 
to-morrow.  If  help  come  not  then,  I  give  ye 
leave  to  go,  without  me.  I  shall  not  return." 

The  monks  withdrew,  still  grumbling  and 
unhappy.  But  the  words  of  the  Saint  had 
made  some  impression,  and  they  agreed  to 
wait  until  morning.  Each  monk  stretched 
himself  on  his  goatskin  mat  on  the  floor  of 
the  little  cell  which  he  had  dug  in  the  sand. 
And  with  groans  of  hunger  mingled  in  their 
prayers  they  tried  to  go  to  sleep  and  forget 
how  long  it  was  since  their  last  breakfast. 

But  Fronto  could  not  sleep.  He  was  sad 
and  disappointed  because  his  brothers  had 
lost  their  faith,  and  because  he  felt  alone, 
deserted  in  this  desert  by  the  friends  who 
should  have  helped  him  with  their  sympathy 
and  trust.  All  night  he  knelt  on  his  goatskin 
mat  praying  that  the  Lord  would  fulfill  His 
promise  now,  and  prove  to  the  doubting 
monks  how  mistaken  their  lack  of  faith  had 
been.  The  other  monks  slept  a  hungry  sleep 
about  him,  dreaming  of  delicious  things  to 
eat.  Now  and  then  one  of  them  would  cry 


n8     SAINT   FRONTO'S  CAMELS 

out :  "  Another  help  of  pudding,  please ; "  or 
"  Brother,  will  you  pass  the  toast  ?  "  or  "  Thank 
you,  I  will  have  an  egg,  brother."  And 
Fronto  wept  as  he  heard  how  faint  their 
voices  were. 

At  last  the  pink  fingers  of  morning  began 
to  spread  themselves  over  the  face  of  the  sky, 
pinching  its  cheeks  into  a  rosy  red.  Sud- 
denly Fronto,  who  was  on  his  knees  with  his 
back  to  the  door  of  his  cell,  started.  Hark ! 
what  sound  was  that  which  came  floating  on 
the  fresh  morning  air  ?  Surely,  the  tinkle  of 
a  bell.  The  good  Saint  rose  from  his  mat  and 
went  hastily  to  the  door,  his  sure  hope  send- 
ing a  smile  to  his  pale  lips  and  color  to  his 
hollow  cheek.  He  knew  that  his  prayer  was 
answered.  And  lo!  away  in  the  northwest 
he  saw  a  thread  of  black,  crawling  like  a 
caterpillar  over  the  sand  toward  his  oasis. 
Nearer  and  nearer  it  came;  and  now  he 
could  see  plainly  what  it  was,  —  a  line  of 
great  rocking  camels,  the  little  tinkling  bells 
on  whose  harness  gave  the  signal  that  hope 
was  at  hand. 

But  the  sound  had  waked  the  other  monks. 
With  a  cry  of  joy  they  came  tumbling  out 


SAINT   FRONTO'S   CAMELS     119 

of  their  cells  and  rushed  toward  the  camels, 
which  were  now  close  to  the  camp.  How  the 
poor  monks  ran,  to  be  sure,  many  of  them 
tripping  over  the  skirts  of  their  long  robes 
and  falling  flat  in  the  sand  from  their  weak- 
ness and  excitement.  They  were  like  men 
on  a  sinking  ship  who  had  just  caught  sight 
of  a  rescuing  sail.  Some  of  them  jumped  up 
and  down  and  clapped  their  hands  like  chil- 
dren, they  were  so  glad.  And  tears  stood  in 
the  eyes  of  nearly  all. 

There  were  seventy  camels,  soft-eyed  gen- 
tle creatures,  whose  flat  feet  held  them  up 
on  the  soft  sand  like  snowshoes.  They  bore 
packs  upon  their  backs  which  promised  good 
things,  and  they  came  straight  to  the  cell  of 
Fronto,  where  they  stopped.  And  what  a  wel- 
come they  received  !  The  monks  threw  their 
arms  about  the  beasts'  necks,  as  they  knelt 
on  the  sand,  and  kissed  the  soft  noses  as 
though  they  were  greeting  long-lost  brothers. 
They  were  so  glad  to  see  the  camels  them- 
selves that  they  almost  forgot  to  wonder 
whence  they  came,  or  what  they  were  bring- 
ing. But  Fronto  was  looking  for  their  owner, 
for  the  man  who  drove  them.  There  was  no 


120     SAINT   FRONTO'S   CAMELS 

one  to  be  found.  They  had  come  all  alone 
across  the  desert,  without  any  one  to  guide 
them.  Fronto's  face  was  full  of  joy.  "  The 
Lord  has  sent  them ! "  he  said.  And  the  other 
monks  bowed  their  heads,  and  were  ashamed 
because  they  had  doubted. 

Hungry  though  they  were,  first  of  all  the 
good  monks  tended  the  tired  beasts  who  had 
come  so  far  to  save  them.  They  relieved 
them  from  their  heavy  loads,  and  tenderly 
washed  their  hot,  weary  feet,  and  gave  them 
draughts  of  the  spring  water.  Some  of  the 
starving  monks  skurried  away  to  gather  the 
green  grass  of  the  oasis  for  their  hungry 
friends,  and  others  unfastened  the  bales  of 
hay  which  some  of  the  camels  had  brought, 
and  made  beds  for  the  animals  to  lie  on. 
Then  they  all  fell  to  and  built  a  fold  for  the 
seventy  camels  in  the  shade  of  the  palm-trees. 
And  here  they  left  the  patient  creatures  to 
rest  and  chew  their  cud  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
that  the  long,  hot  journey  was  over. 

Then  the  monks  hurried  back  to  Fronto, 
wondering  if  it  were  not  now  almost  time 
for  their  breakfast.  They  came  upon  him 
reading  a  letter  which  he  had  found  on  the 


SAINT   FRONTO'S   CAMELS     121 

harness  of  the  foremost  camel.  It  was  written 
from  the  city  of  Alexandria,  and  it  explained 
how  the  camels  had  been  sent. 

Four  nights  before  this,  Glaucus,  the  rich 
merchant,  had  been  resting  on  a  couch  in  his 
summer  house.  He  had  just  finished  an  ex- 
cellent dinner,  with  all  his  favorite  fishes  and 
meats  and  fruits  and  sweets,  and  he  was  feel- 
ing very  happy.  When  suddenly  he  thought 
of  the  seventy  monks  who  had  gone  out  from 
Nitria  many  days  before  to  live  in  the  desert 
with  the  help  which  the  Lord  should  send. 
And  a  pang  smote  him.  Perhaps  they  were 
starving  now,  while  he  was  feasting.  And 
he  wished  he  could  help  them  to  a  dinner 
as  good  as  his.  Ha!  an  idea  came  to  him. 
Why  should  he  not  indeed  send  them  a  din- 
ner —  many  dinners  *?  It  should  be  done. 

So  the  next  morning  he  had  loaded  seventy 
camels  with  provisions,  five  of  them  with 
bales  of  hay  for  the  camels  themselves.  And 
taking  them  to  the  border  of  the  desert,  with- 
out driver  or  any  one  to  guide  them,  he  had 
sent  them  out  into  the  sea  of  sand,  the  great 
ships  of  the  desert,  to  find  the  right  harbor  by 
themselves.  For  somehow  he  felt  sure  that 


122     SAINT   FRONTO'S   CAMELS 

the  Lord  would  guide  them  safely  to  the 
monks.  Here  the  letter  of  Glaucus  ended. 

Oh,  how  good  that  breakfast  tasted  to  the 
poor,  famished  monks  !  There  were  all  kinds 
of  fruit,  —  fresh  figs  and  olives  and  dates, 
citrons  and  juicy  grapes  and  yellow  pome- 
granates. There  were  bread  and  oil  which 
the  monks  loved,  and  nuts  and  combs  of  the 
most  delicious  golden  honey  such  as  it  makes 
one's  mouth  water  to  think  of.  Glaucus  had 
sent  them  a  breakfast  fit  for  a  king.  And  they 
all  sat  down  on  the  sand  in  a  happy  circle 
and  had  the  finest  picnic  that  was  ever  seen 
in  that  desert. 

When  they  had  eaten  they  went  out  once 
more  to  visit  the  camels  who  had  saved  their 
lives,  and  to  thank  them  with  caressing 
words.  The  camels  seemed  to  understand, 
and  looked  at  them  with  gentle  eyes,  chew- 
ing their  cud  earnestly  as  if  thinking :  "  You 
see,  the  Lord  was  looking  out  for  you  all  the 
time.  We  are  only  poor,  dumb  beasts ;  but 
we  came  straight  to  you  across  the  desert 
without  any  fear  or  wandering,  because  we 
trusted.  Why  were  you  not  trustful,  too  ?  " 

And  again  the  monks  were   very  much 


SAINT   FRONTO'S  CAMELS     123 

ashamed,  and  went  back  to  Fronto  to  beg 
his  forgiveness,  promising  never  again  to  be 
faint-hearted  nor  to  lose  faith. 

The  next  morning  they  made  ready  to 
send  back  the  camels  to  Alexandria.  For 
they  knew  Glaucus  would  be  anxious  to 
hear  how  his  ships  of  the  desert  had  fared 
on  their  errand.  And  half  the  provisions  they 
returned,  for  they  had  more  than  enough  to 
last  them  a  year,  according  to  their  simple 
meals.  Then,  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  the 
monks  sent  the  great  beasts  forth  again  into 
the  desert,  confident  that  as  they  had  come  so 
they  would  find  their  way  back  to  Alexandria, 
safe  and  sound.  Each  in  his  cell  door  the 
monks  stood  and  watched  them  slowly  wind- 
ing away  over  the  yellow  sand,  disappearing 
at  last  behind  the  hills  which  rose  like  great 
waves  between  them  and  the  world  of  cities. 

Now  it  was  eight  days  since  Glaucus  had 
sent  out  the  camels,  and  he  was  growing 
uneasy.  Seventy  camels  are  a  valuable  pro- 
perty, which  even  a  rich  man  could  not  afford 
to  lose.  Glaucus  feared  that  he  had  been 
foolish ;  the  desert  was  full  of  robbers,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  protect  this  leaderless 


i24    SAINT   FRONTO'S   CAMELS 

caravan.  Would  the  Lord  take  care  of  affairs 
which  were  left  wholly  to  His  direction  ? 

Glaucus  was  sitting  with  his  family  in  the 
garden,  silent  and  gloomy.  His  family  felt 
that  he  had  been  rash,  and  they  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  tell  him  so,  which  made  him  still  more 
unhappy.  The  leader-camel  was  the  favorite 
of  Glaucus's  daughter,  ^Emilia.  She  was  cry- 
ing in  a  corner  of  the  garden,  thinking  about 
her  dear  Humpo,  whom  she  never  expected 
to  see  again.  When,  just  as  Fronto  had  done, 
she  heard  a  far-away  tinkle.  She  jumped  up 
and  ran  out  to  the  road. 

"  What  is  it,  JEmilia,  my  child  ?  "  called 
out  her  father,  startled  by  her  sudden  move- 
ment. 

"  Oh,  Father,  Father ! "  she  cried.  "  I  think 
I  hear  the  tinkle  of  a  camel  bell  among  the 
mountains  ! "  And  sure  enough.  As  they  all 
hurried  down  to  the  garden  gate  the  sound 
of  little  bells  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  And 
presently  came  in  sight  the  line  of  seventy 
camels,  Humpo  at  the  head,  half  of  them 
loaded  with  the  provisions  which  the  monks 
were  too  unselfish  to  keep.  And  soon  ^Emi- 
lia had  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  her  dear 


SAINT  FRONTO'S  CAMELS     125 

Humpo,  and  was  whispering  nice  things  into 
his  floppy  ears  as  he  knelt  before  her,  look- 
ing lovingly  at  her  with  his  big  brown  eyes. 
Thus  it  was  that  Glaucus,  the  good  rich 
man,  knew  that  the  Lord  was  pleased  with 
him  for  his  kindness,  and  had  helped  him  to 
do  his  duty.  And  every  year  after  that  he 
sent  the  seventy  camels  forth  into  the  desert 
on  their  unguided  errand  to  the  far-off  oasis. 
So  they  grew  to  be  dear  friends  of  Saint 
Fronto  and  his  monks,  looked  for  as  eagerly 
as  Santa  Glaus  is  at  Christmas  time. 


THE   BLIND  SINGER, 

SAINT   HERVE   t   t   t 

i. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  when  Childebert 
was  King  of  France,  a  thousand 
years  ago,  there  lived  a  young  man 
named  Hyvarnion  who  was  very  handsome 
and  had  the  sweetest  voice.  Hyvarnion  was 
the  King's  minstrel ;  he  lived  at  the  palace 
and  it  was  his  business  to  make  music  for  the 
King  to  keep  him  in  a  good  temper.  For  he 
wrote  the  most  beautiful  songs  and  sang  them 
to  the  accompaniment  of  a  golden  harp  which 
he  carried  with  him  everywhere  he  went.  And 
besides  all  this  Hyvarnion  was  very  wise ;  so 
wise  that  when  he  was  a  boy  at  school  he  was 
called  the  Little  Sage,  for  Saint  Cadoc  had 
been  his  master  and  had  taught  him  many 
things  that  even  the  King,  who  was  a  hea- 
then, did  not  know. 

Now  Hyvarnion  had  lived  four  years  with 
the  King  when  one  night  he  had  a  wonder- 
ful dream.  He  dreamed  that  he  saw  a  beau- 
tiful maiden  picking  flowers  in  a  meadow, 
and  that  she  smiled  at  him  and  gave  him  a 


SAINT   HERVE  127 

blossom,  saying,  "  This  is  for  my  King."  And 
Hyvarnion  woke  up  longing  to  see  the 
maiden  more  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 

For  three  nights  he  dreamed  the  same 
dream,  of  the  singing  maiden  and  the  mea- 
dow and  the  flowers;  and  each  time  she 
seemed  more  beautiful  than  on  the  last.  So 
on  the  fourth  day  he  woke  up  and  said,  "  I 
must  find  that  maiden.  I  must  find  her  and 
hear  her  call  me  her  King." 

So,  taking  his  golden  harp  on  his  back,  he 
went  out  from  the  palace  and  struck  into  the 
deep  black  forest.  By  and  by  he  came  to  an 
open  place,  like  a  meadow,  where  the  grass 
grew  tall  and  thick,  and  where  in  the  midst 
was  a  spring  like  a  bit  of  mirror  set  in  a  green 
frame.  And  Hyvarnion's  heart  beat  fast  with 
joy  when  he  saw  on  the  border  of  the  spring 
the  very  maiden  about  whom  he  had  dreamed, 
but  much  more  beautiful  than  any  dream. 
She  was  bending  over,  picking  something 
from  the  grass,  and  she  seemed  like  a  won- 
derful pink-and- white  flower  set  among  the 
other  flowers  of  yellow  and  red  and  blue. 

For  a  moment  Hyvarnion  stood  and  gazed 
with  open  mouth  and  happy  eyes.  Then  he 


128        THE  BLIND  SINGER 

took  his  harp  and  began  to  sing  a  song  which 
he  had  just  that  minute  made.  For  because 
he  was  a  minstrel  it  was  easier  for  him  to  sing 
than  to  talk.  And  in  the  song  he  called  her 
Queen  Iris  gathering  flowers  for  her  crown. 
Then  the  maiden  raised  her  head  and  she 
turned  pinker  and  whiter,  and  looked  even 
more  like  a  fair  flower  than  before.  For  she 
too  had  had  a  dream,  three  times.  And  it 
was  of  golden-haired  Hy  varnion  that  she  had 
dreamed,  whom  she  now  saw  looking  at  her 
and  singing  so  sweetly  with  his  silver  voice. 

But  she  also  answered  him  in  a  song,  for 
she  was  a  singer,  too.  "  I  am  no  Queen  Iris," 
she  sang,  "  I  am  only  the  little  maiden  Riva- 
none,  though  they  call  me  Queen  of  this 
Fountain.  And  I  am  not  gathering  flowers 
as  you  say,  fair  Sir,  but  I  am  seeking  simple 
herbs  such  as  wise  men  use  to  cure  pain  and 
trouble." 

"What  are  the  herbs  you  seek,  Riva- 
none*?"  asked  Hyvarnion,  coming  nearer. 
She  held  up  a  sprig  of  green  in  her  white 
hand.  "  See,  this  is  the  vervain,"  she  answered 
in  song ;  "  this  brings  happiness  and  heart's 
ease.  But  I  seek  two  others  which  I  have 


SAINT  HERVE 


129 


HYVARNION  AND  RIVANONE 

not  found.  The  second  opens  the  eyes  of  the 
blind.  And  the  third,  —  few  may  ever  find 
that  precious  herb,  —  the  third  is  the  root  of 
life,  and  at  its  touch  death  flees  away.  Alas ! 


130        THE  BLIND  SINGER 

Fair  Sir,  I  cannot  find  those  two,  though  some 
day  I  feel  that  I  shall  need  them  both  most 
sorely."  Rivanone  sighed  and  two  tears  stood 
like  dewdrops  in  her  flower  eyes. 

But  Hyvarnion  had  now  come  very  close. 
"  Still,  you  have  found  the  first,  which  gives 
happiness,  little  Queen,"  he  sang  tenderly. 
"  Have  you  not  happiness  to  share  with  me, 
Rivanone?"  Then  the  maiden  looked  up  in 
his  eyes  and  smiled,  and  held  out  to  him  a 
sprig  of  the  green  vervain. 

"  For  my  King,"  she  sang,  just  as  he  had 
dreamed.  And  then  he  did  just  what  she  had 
dreamed  he  would  do;  but  that  is  a  secret 
which  I  cannot  tell.  For  no  one  knows  all 
that  a  maiden  dreams. 

And  after  this  and  that  they  came  back  to 
the  King's  palace  hand  in  hand,  singing  a 
beautiful  song  which  together  they  had  made 
about  Happiness.  So  they  were  married  at 
the  court,  and  the  King  did  them  great  honor 
and  made  them  King  and  Queen  of  music 
and  of  song. 

So,  happily  they  lived  and  happily  they 
sang  in  their  little  Kingdom  of  Poesie,  —  for 
did  they  not  possess  the  herb  of  joy  which 


SAINT   HERVE  131 

Rivanone  had  found  and  shared  with  Hyvar- 
nion,  her  King? 


II. 

BUT  it  was  a  pity  that  Rivanone  had 
not  also  found  those  other  plants  for 
which  she  had  been  seeking,  the  root 
which  brings  light  to  the  blind,  and  the  root 
which  gives  life  to  the  dying.  Because  Riva- 
none had  foreseen  only  too  well  the  need  of 
them  which  would  come  to  her.  For  when, 
after  a  year  or  two,  their  little  son  was  born, 
his  blue  eyes  were  sightless  and  all  the  colored 
wonders  of  the  world  were  secrets  which  he 
could  never  know.  So  they  named  him 
Herve,  which  means  Bitterness,  —  the  first 
bitterness  which  had  come  into  their  lives  of 
joy.  But  it  was  not  the  last.  Not  long  after 
the  little  Herve  came,  golden-haired  Hyvar- 
nion  lay  ill  and  dying.  And  because  on  that 
spring  morning,  Rivanone  had  not  found  the 
herb  of  life,  she  could  not  keep  him  from 
going  away  to  find  it  for  himself  in  that  fair 
country  where  it  is  the  only  plant  that  grows, 
with  wonderful  blossoms  which  no  living  man 
has  ever  seen. 


THE  BLIND   SINGER 

So  Hyvarnion  passed  away  from  his  king- 
dom of  music  and  song,  which  he  left  to  be 
shared  by  dear  Rivanone  and  Herve  his  little 
son.  Thus  Herve  became  a  Prince,  heir  to 
all  the  gifts  of  that  royal  pair.  And  of  these 
there  were  in  particular  four  of  the  best :  a 
beautiful  face,  the  sweetest  voice  that  ever 
thrilled  in  Brittany,  the  golden  harp  of  Hy- 
varnion his  father,  and  many  a  lovely  song 
made  by  those  two,  which  Rivanone  taught 
him.  What  a  wonderful  Kingdom  that  was 
to  be  his !  What  beautiful  gifts  for  a  little 
boy  to  own ! 

But  even  in  a  kingdom  of  this  sort  one 
has  to  bear  sorrows  and  discomforts,  just  as 
folk  do  in  other  kingdoms  which  are  less 
fair.  Herve's  name  meant  bitterness,  and 
there  was  much  bitterness  in  his  little  life 
before  he  learned  what  a  Prince  he  really 
was.  For  he  was  blind  and  could  not  play 
with  the  other  children.  Rivanone  was  a  poor 
widow  and  there  was  no  one  to  earn  bread 
for  the  two.  Sometimes  the  carols  which  they 
sang  together  were  the  only  breakfast  to  be- 
gin the  day.  Sometimes  the  songs  Rivanone 
made  beside  his  bed  at  night  were  the  only 


SAINT   HERVE  133 

food  Herve  had  tasted  since  sunrise.  Some- 
times they  were  both  so  hungry  that  they 
could  not  sing  at  all;  and  those  were  sad 
times  indeed. 

But  when  Herve  was  seven  years  old  a 
great  idea  came  to  him.  Rivanone  lay  ill  and 
miserable,  and  there  was  nothing  to  eat  in  the 
house.  Herve  sat  by  her  side  holding  her 
hand,  and  wishing  there  was  something  he 
could  do  about  it.  Blind  as  he  was  he  had 
never  been  out  of  the  house  alone.  But  sud- 
denly courage  came  to  him  and  hope,  through 
his  great  idea. 

"  I  will  save  you,  dear  mother ! "  he  cried, 
throwing  his  arms  about  her  neck.  "  I  will 
take  father's  golden  harp  and  go  out  upon 
the  highway  and  sing  your  beautiful  songs. 
People  will  give  me  pennies,  and  I  shall  buy 
you  food." 

So,  carrying  the  golden  harp  on  his  back, 
in  his  ragged  clothes  and  bare  feet  the  little 
fellow  went  out  stumbling  and  feeling  his 
way  along  the  hard  road.  Now  almost  at 
the  first  corner  he  met  a  white  dog,  who 
seemed  to  have  no  master.  This  creature 
came  sniffing  and  whining  up  to  Herve  and 


i34        THE  BLIND   SINGER 

licked  his  hand.  And  when  the  boy  went 
on  the  dog  followed  close  at  his  side  as  if  to 
guide  and  protect  him.  Herve  asked  every 
one  he  met  whose  dog  it  was ;  but  they  all 
said  it  was  a  strange  dog  come  from  No- 
where, and  belonged  to  No-one.  It  seemed 
almost  as  if  the  beast  had  been  sent  especially 
for  Herve.  So  at  last  he  said,  "  You  shall 
be  my  dog,"  and  at  that  the  great  white 
beast  jumped  up  and  barked  for  joy.  Herve 
fastened  a  rope  about  the  dog's  neck  and 
kept  one  end  in  his  hand.  So  now  he  had 
some  one  to  guide  and  guard  him,  for  the 
dog  was  very  careful  and  kind  and  took  care 
that  Herve  never  stumbled  nor  went  astray 
into  the  ditch  by  the  side  of  the  road. 

It  must  have  been  a  hard-hearted  man  in- 
deed who  had  no  pennies  to  spare  for  the 
blind  boy  led  by  the  big  white  dog.  With 
his  bare  feet  blue  with  cold,  his  teeth  chat- 
tering, and  his  eyes  turned  wistfully  up  to 
the  sky  which  he  could  not  see,  he  was  a  sad 
little  figure  to  meet  on  the  lonely  Brittany 
roads.  And  he  sang  so  sweetly,  too!  No 
one  had  ever  heard  such  a  voice  as  that,  nor 
such  beautiful  songs.  Every  one  who  heard 


SAINT   HERVE  135 

gave  him  money.  So  he  was  helping  his 
mother,  getting  her  food  and  medicine  and 
clothes  to  keep  her  warm.  And  this  thought 
comforted  him  when  he  was  shivering  with 
cold,  his  rags  blown  about  by  the  wind  and 
soaked  in  the  rain. 

Day  after  day,  week  after  week,  Herve 
trudged  along  the  flinty  roads.  Often  he 
limped  with  cold,  bleeding  feet  which  the 
faithful  dog  would  try  to  lick  warm  again. 
Often  he  was  very  tired,  and  sometimes  he 
was  sad,  when  people  were  not  kind.  But 
this  seldom  happened.  Once  Herve  was 
passing  through  a  strange  village  where  all 
the  folk  were  heathen.  And  a  band  of 
naughty  children  began  to  dance  about  him 
and  tease  him,  pulling  his  hair  and  twitching 
his  cloak.  And  they  mocked  his  music, 
singing,  "  Blind  boy,  blind  boy !  Where  are 
you  going,  blind  boy  !  "  Then  it  is  said  that 
a  wonderful  thing  happened.  Herve  was 
sorry  because  they  were  so  cruel  and  unkind, 
and  he  struck  a  strange  chord  of  music  on 
his  harp  and  sang  in  a  low,  clear  voice,  — 

"Dance  on,  bright  eyes  who  can  see. 
Dance  on,  children  who  mock  a  poor  blind 


136        THE  BLIND   SINGER 

boy.  Dance  on,  —  and  never  stop  so  long 
as  the  world  wags."  And  it  is  said  that  the 
wicked  children  are  still  dancing,  over  the 
world  and  back,  around  and  around,  tired 
though  they  must  be.  And  they  will  be 
still  more  tired  before  all  is  done.  For  they 
must  whirl  and  pirouette  until  the  end  of 
the  world ;  and  that  is  a  long  time  even  for 
children  who  love  to  dance. 

At  a  different  time  another  unkind  thing 
happened  to  Saint  Herve.  But  this  time  it 
was  a  beast  who  hurt  his  feelings.  And  this 
was  strange;  for  usually  the  beasts  loved 
him  and  tried  to  help  him  as  the  white  dog 
had  done.  But  after  all  this  was  only  a  mis- 
take; yet  it  was  a  sad  mistake,  for  it  cost 
Herve  the  life  of  his  faithful  guide.  This  is 
how  it  happened. 

As  Herve  and  his  dog  were  passing  along 
a  lonely  road,  a  black  wolf  sprang  out  upon 
them.  He  mistook  the  dog  for  an  ancient 
enemy  of  his,  another  wolf.  For  indeed 
Blanco  looked  like  a  white  wolf,  —  a  wolf 
such  as  Saint  Bridget  gave  the  King  of  Ire- 
land. And  without  stopping  to  find  out  who 
he  really  was,  which  would  have  saved  all  the 


SAINT  HERVE  137 

trouble,  they  had  a  terrible  fight,  and  poor 
Blanco  was  killed  by  the  huge  black  wolf. 

Then  Herve  was  sad  indeed.  He  cried 
and  sobbed  and  was  so  wretched  that  the 
wolf  was  sorry.  Besides,  as  soon  as  the  fight 
was  over  the  wolf  had  found  out  his  mis- 
take, and  saw  that  it  was  a  strange  dog 
whom  he  had  killed,  no  wolf-enemy  at  all. 
He  was  very  much  ashamed.  He  came  up 
to  Herve  and  fawned  at  his  feet,  trying  to 
tell  that  he  was  sorry,  and  asking  what  he 
should  do  about  it  So  Herve  told  him  that 
if  he  would  be  his  dog  now  instead  of  Blanco 
he  would  try  to  forgive  the  wolf;  though  he 
was,  oh,  so  sorry  to  lose  his  faithful  dog. 

After  that  Herve  went  on  his  wanderings 
led  by  a  big  black  wolf  whom  he  held  in  a 
strong  leather  leash.  And  the  wolf  became 
as  dear  to  him  as  Blanco  had  been.  He 
slept  in  the  barn  with  the  oxen  when  he  was 
at  home,  and  never  snapped  nor  bit  at  them  as 
most  wolves  would  do.  But  he  kept  sharp 
watch  over  his  little  master,  and  saw  that  no 
one  hurt  or  cheated  him.  I  should  be  sorry 
to  think  what  would  have  happened  to  any 
one  who  had  dared  to  touch  Herve  while 


138         THE  BLIND  SINGER 

the  wolf  was  near.    And  he  was  always  near, 
with  his  sharp  teeth  and  watchful  eyes. 

So  they  wandered  and  wandered  together, 
Herve  and  the  wolf,  carrying  music  from 
town  to  town,  the  songs  of  Hyvarnion  and 
Rivanone.  But  Herve  had  not  yet  learned 
to  make  songs  of  his  own. 


III. 

NOW  after  seven  years  of  wandering, 
Herve  had  earned  money  enough 
to  keep  his  mother  in  comfort.  He 
longed  to  go  to  school  and  be  taught  things, 
to  grow  wise  like  his  father,  who  had  been 
called  the  Little  Sage,  and  to  learn  how  to 
make  songs  for  himself.  For  he  felt  that  it 
was  time  for  him  to  come  into  the  kingdom 
of  Hyvarnion  and  Rivanone ;  and  the  songs 
shut  in  his  heart  were  bursting  to  come  out. 
Gourvoyed,  the  brother  of  Rivanone,  was 
a  holy  hermit  who  lived  alone  in  the  forest, 
and  he  would  teach  Herve,  his  nephew,  for 
love  of  him.  For  Gourvoyed  was  a  wise 
man,  skilled  in  all  things,  but  especially  in 
the  making  of  songs. 


SAINT   HERVE  139 

It  was  a  blessed  morning  when  Herve 
started  for  his  school  in  the  woods ;  he  was 
going  to  his  kingdom !  The  sunlight 
framed  his  fair  curls  in  a  halo  of  light,  as  if 
giving  him  a  blessing.  Birds  sang  all  along 
the  way  as  if  telling  him  that  with  Gour- 
voyed  he  would  learn  to  make  music  even 
sweeter  than  theirs.  The  wolf  led  him 
eagerly,  bounding  with  joy ;  for  he  shared 
in  all  the  hopes  of  Herve's  life.  And  all  the 
creatures  knew  that  he  would  become  a  great 
poet.  And  so  indeed  it  was. 

For  Herve  soon  learned  all  that  Gour- 
voyed  could  teach,  and  in  his  turn  he  be- 
came a  master.  Many  pupils  came  to  the 
hut  in  the  forest  which  the  hermit  gave  up 
to  him,  and  begged  Herve  to  make  them 
singer-poets  like  himself.  But  he  could  not 
do  that.  He  could  teach  them  to  sing  and 
to  play  the  harp  ;  but  no  one  could  sing  as 
well  as  he  sang,  or  play  as  well  as  he 
played.  And  no  one  can  ever  be  taught  to 
make  poetry  unless  he  has  it  in  his  soul,  as 
Herve  had.  For  that  is  a  royal  gift,  and  it 
came  to  Herve  from  Hyvarnion  and  Riva- 
none,  the  King  and  Queen  of  music  and  of 


THE  BLIND  SINGER 

song.  It  was  Herve's  kingdom,  and  it  was 
given  him  to  take  away  the  bitterness  from 
his  name,  to  make  it  remembered  as  sweet, 
sweet,  sweet. 

And  now  on  his  wanderings  from  town  to 
town  Herve  was  received  like  a  prince.  He 
sat  at  great  lords'  tables,  and  sang  in  ladies' 
bowers.  He  had  golden  goblets  as  his  gifts, 
and  shining  gems  to  wear  if  he  chose.  But 
he  was  so  generous  that  he  gave  them  all 
away.  Never  was  there  heard  music  so 
sweet  as  his ;  never  were  there  songs  so  beau- 
tiful as  he  sang  to  the  rippling  of  his  father's 
golden  harp.  For  Herve  was  even  a  greater 
minstrel  than  Hyvarnion  or  Rivanone  had 
been. 

In  his  wanderings  all  about  the  country 
Herve  came  to  many  strange  places  and  met 
with  many  strange  adventures.  Once  he 
spent  the  night  at  the  castle  of  a  great  lord 
who  made  Herve  sit  on  his  right  hand  at 
table  and  honored  him  above  all  his  guests. 
When  the  banquet  was  over,  at  the  Count's 
request  a  page  brought  to  Herve  his  golden 
harp,  and  they  all  shouted  for  "A  song!  a 
song ! "  Every  one  pushed  back  his  stool  to 


SAINT  HERVE  141 

listen,  and  Herve  took  the  harp  and  ran  his 
finger  over  the  golden  strings  with  a  sound 
like  drops  of  rain  upon  the  flowers. 

Now  outside  the  castle,  beyond  the  moat, 
was  a  pond.  And  in  the  pond  lived  a  whole 
colony  of  great  green  bullfrogs,  whose  voices 
were  gruffer  and  grummer  than  the  lowest 
twanging  note  on  Herve's  harp.  And  as 
soon  as  Herve  began  to  sing  these  rude  frogs 
began  to  bellow  and  growl  as  if  trying  to 
drown  his  music.  Perhaps  they  were  jeal- 
ous; for  Herve's  voice  was  sweeter  than  a 
silver  bell.  But  all  they  could  sing  was 
"  K.er-chog  !  Ker-r-kity-chog,  Ker-^0£  /  " 
which  is  neither  very  musical  nor  very  origi- 
nal, being  the  same  tune  which  all  the  frog- 
people  have  sung  from  the  earliest  days. 

Now  Herve  was  displeased  by  their  dis- 
agreeable noise.  He  could  not  sing  nor 
play,  nor  think  of  the  words  which  belonged 
with  his  music :  only  the  "  Ker-f  hog  I 
Ker-r-kity-chog !  Ker-chog !  "  sounded  in 
his  ears.  And  it  grew  louder  and  louder 
every  moment  as  one  by  one  all  the  frogs 
joined  in  the  chorus. 

Herve   waited   for   them   to   stop.      But 


142        THE  BLIND  SINGER 

when  he  found  that  they  did  not  mean  to  do 
this,  but  were  really  trying  to  drown  his 
voice,  he  was  very  angry.  He  strode  to  the 
window  holding  his  harp  in  his  hand.  And 
leaning  far  out  he  struck  another  of  his  won- 
derful chords  of  music,  such  as  had  charmed 
the  mocking  children  once  before,  as  you 
remember. 

"  Sing  your  last  song,  O  Frogs,"  he  said. 
"  Sing  your  last  Ker-chog,  for  henceforth  you 
will  be  silent.  I  command  you  from  this 
night  never  to  open  your  mouths  again. 
All  save  one,  the  littlest  of  you  all.  And 
he  shall  sing  forever,  without  cease,  to  re- 
mind you  of  your  rudeness  to  me."  And 
no  sooner  had  he  ceased  speaking  when  there 
came  a  great  silence  outside  the  window, 
broken  only  by  one  wee  piping  tadpole 
voice.  "  K.er-chog !  Ker-r-kity-chog !  Ker- 
chog !  "  he  chanted  his  sad  little  solo.  And 
all  alone  he  had  to  sing  and  sing  this  same 
tune  forever.  I  dare  say  one  can  hear  him 
yet  in  the  greeny  pond  outside  that  old 
French  castle. 


SAINT   HERVE  143 

IV. 

NOW  after  many  years  of  wandering, 
of  singing,  of  making  beautiful 
songs,  of  teaching  and  wandering 
again,  Herve's  dear  mother  Rivanone  died. 
But  he  still  had  some  one  to  love  and  look 
for  him  and  the  wolf  when  he  came  home 
from  his  travels.  For  Rivanone  had  adopted 
a  dear  little  girl  named  Christine,  beautiful 
as  sunshine  and  sweet  as  a  flower.  She 
called  Herve  "  Uncle  "  and  loved  him  dearly, 
and  the  wolf  was  a  great  friend  of  hers. 

So  at  last  he  thought  to  settle  down  and 
make  music  about  him  in  his  own  home, 
letting  people  come  there  to  hear  it,  instead 
of  carrying  it  to  them  by  road  and  river. 
For  he  was  growing  an  old  man,  and  it  was 
not  so  easy  to  travel  in  his  blindness  as  it 
used  to  be.  Besides,  the  black  wolf  was 
also  growing  gray,  and  needed  rest  after 
these  long  years  of  faithful  work. 

Herve  resolved  to  build  a  church,  and  to 
live  there  with  Christine  near  him  in  a  little 
house  of  her  own.  He  had  grown  to  be  an 
important  personage  in  the  world,  and  had 
many  friends,  pupils,  and  followers  who 


144        THE  BLIND  SINGER 

wanted  to  live  near  him.  So  forth  they  set 
to  find  a  place  for  their  church,  Herve  and 
his  troop  of  black-robed  monks.  And  be- 
fore them,  like  a  little  white  dove  among 
the  ravens,  ran  Christine  holding  her  uncle's 
hand  in  one  of  hers,  and  in  the  other  grasp- 
ing the  leash  at  which  tugged  the  grizzled 
old  wol£  who  was  guiding  them.  Over 
many  a  hill  and  dale  and  bloomy  meadow 
he  had  led  Herve  before  now,  down  many  a 
lane  and  village  street,  but  never  upon  so 
important  a  journey  as  this.  For  this  was 
to  be  the  old  wolf's  last  long  tramp  with  his 
master.  And  the  wolf  was  to  choose  the 
spot  where  the  church  should  stand.  Where 
he  stopped  to  rest,  there  would  they  lay  the 
first  stone. 

So  he  led  them  on  and  on.  And  at  last 
he  lay  down  in  a  green  spot  by  a  river,  just 
the  place  for  a  beautiful  church  to  grow  up. 
And  thenceforth  Herve  the  minstrel  would 
wander  no  more,  but  bide  and  rest  and  be 
happy  with  the  wolf  and  Christine. 

They  built  her  an  arbor  near  the  church, 
in  a  clump  of  willows  on  the  border  of  a 
spring.  It  was  cone-shaped  and  covered 


SAINT   HERVE  145 

with  straw  like  a  huge  beehive.  And 
Christine  herself  seemed  like  a  busy  bee 
gathering  honey  as  she  buzzed  in  and  out 
among  the  roses,  humming  little  tunes  be- 
low her  breath.  For  she  was  always  among 
the  flowers,  as  Rivanone  had  been.  Every 
Saturday  morning  she  would  rise  early,  and 
with  her  little  basket  on  her  arm  would  go 
out  to  pick  the  blossoms  with  the  dew  still 
on  them.  And  every  Saturday  evening  she 
came  to  the  church  with  her  arms  full  of 
flowers  till  she  looked  like  a  bouquet  of 
sweetness.  And  going  into  the  empty 
church  she  would  busy  herself  with  arran- 
ging the  flowers  for  the  next  morning's  ser- 
vice. For  it  was  her  duty  to  see  that  Uncle 
Herve's  church  was  kept  clean  and  sweet 
and  beautiful. 

And  while  Christine  stood  there  putting 
the  flowers  into  tall  golden  vases,  singing 
softly  the  songs  which  Rivanone  had  taught 
her,  her  Uncle  Herve  would  come  creeping 
up  the  steps  of  the  church,  his  hand  on  the 
head  of  the  wolf,  who  always  led  him  to 
the  place  where  he  heard  her  voice.  Softly, 
very  softly,  as  if  he  were  doing  something 


146        THE  BLIND  SINGER 

naughty,  Herve  would  pull  open  the  heavy 
door,  just  a  crack,  the  better  to  hear  her  sing. 
Then  he  would  put  his  ear  to  the  opening; 
while  the  wolf  would  thrust  his  nose  in  be- 
low, and  wag  his  tail  eagerly.  But  Chris- 
tine's keen  ears  always  heard  them,  no  mat- 
ter how  slyly  the  good  blind  man  crept  up 
to  that  door.  And  it  became  part  of  the 
game  that  she  should  cry  out  suddenly,  — 

"  I  see  you,  Uncle !  I  see  you ! "  And 
though  he  could  not  see  her  at  all,  he  would 
start  and  pop  back,  pulling  the  wolf  with 
him  as  though  he  had  done  something  wrong. 
Then  without  making  any  noise  they  would 
tiptoe  away  to  Herve's  house,  their  hearts 
beating  with  love  for  the  dear  little  maiden 
who  would  soon  come  to  bid  them  good- 
night on  her  way  home  to  her  bower. 

So  they  lived  happily  all  the  rest  of  their 
days,  these  three  among  the  flowers.  And 
in  spite  of  his  name  Herve's  life  was  not  one 
of  bitterness,  but  of  joy.  The  kingdom 
which  had  come  to  him  from  Hyvarnion 
and  Rivanone  was  his  all  his  life  long;  and 
though  he  no  longer  wandered  painfully 
from  town  to  town,  the  songs  which  he  made 


SAINT  HERVE  147 

wandered  still  from  heart  to  heart.  And 
long,  long  afterwards  their  echo  made  music 
through  the  land  of  Brittany,  as  the  fragrance 
of  a  flower  lasts  long  after  the  flower  has 
passed  on  its  way  elsewhere. 
Dear  Saint  Herve ! 


AT  the  place  where  the  Irish  Sea  is 
narrowest   is   the  town  of  Bangor. 
There  the  green  hills  of  Saint  Pat- 
rick's island  smile  over  at  the  purple  cliffs 
of  Scotland  across  the  lane  of  water  where 
the  ships  pass  to  and  fro,  just  as  neighbors 
nod  across  a  narrow  street  above  the  heads 
of   the    passers-by.    And    here    at    Bangor 
Saint   Comgall  built  a  monastery,  thirteen 
hundred  long  years  ago. 

This  does  not  sound  very  interesting,  but 
it  was  interesting  to  many  people  in  those 
days,  and  I  think  it  will  be  interesting  to 
you.  For  Comgall  is  an  Irish  word  which 
means  "  the  goodly  pledge."  And  the  man 
who  bore  this  name  was  a  goodly  pledge  of 
friendship  between  man  and  beast.  Com- 
gall had  many  pupils  in  his  monastery,  and 
many  friends  living  near  who  loved  and 
honored  him.  They  did  splendid  things 
together,  and  tales  of  their  doings  were  put 
into  great  books.  But  the  most  interesting 
stories  of  all  are  about  certain  friends  of 


SAINT   COMGALL  149 

Saint  Comgall  who  could  not  speak  Irish 
and  who  did  not  wear  clothes.  Some  of 
these  friends  wore  feathers  and  some  wore 
fur ;  the  strangest  story  of  all  is  about  his 
friends  with  long  tails  and  very  sharp  teeth. 
But  you  must  wait  for  that  till  I  have  told 
about  the  swans. 

One  day  Comgall  was  walking  with  some 
friends  on  the  bank  of  a  pond.  All  of  a 
sudden,  through  the  rushes  and  the  tall  grass 
some  one  spied  six  beautiful  white  swans 
floating  on  the  water,  preening  their  fine 
feathers  and  arching  their  necks  proudly. 
For  they  could  see  in  the  water,  just  as  if  it 
were  a  mirror,  how  handsome  they  were,  and 
it  made  them  vain. 

**  Oh,  Father,"  cried  Comgall's  pupils  (they 
always  called  their  teacher  "  Father  "  in  those 
days),  "see  the  lovely  swans  !  May  we  not 
coax  them  ashore  ?  We  want  to  play  with 
them." 

Comgall  chuckled  inside,  for  he  felt  sure 
that  the  swans  would  not  come  to  them,  be- 
cause they  were  strangers.  But  he  said  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  — 

"Oh,  yes,  boys.   Call  them  here  if  you 


150  SAINT  COMGALL 

can.  But  you  must  give  them  something 
to  tempt  them,  or  I  fear  they  will  hardly 
come." 

Then  the  boys  tried  to  find  a  crust  of 
bread  or  some  crumbs  in  their  pockets,  to 
throw  to  the  swans.  But  no  one  had  any- 
thing, not  even  a  peanut;  for  peanuts  were 
not  invented  in  those  days.  They  stood  on 
the  bank  whistling  and  calling,  trying  in 
every  way  to  make  the  swans  swim  ashore. 
But  the  birds  only  cocked  their  red-rimmed 
eyes  at  the  boys  and  fluttered  their  wings 
timidly. 

"We  don't  know  you,"  they  squawked 
with  their  harsh  voices.  "  The  like  of  you 
are  no  friends  of  ours.  Hurrooh  !  Go  away 
and  leave  our  pond  in  peace." 

All  this  time  Comgall  had  been  standing 
behind  them  on  the  bank  laughing  at  the 
vain  attempts  of  his  pupils.  But  now  he 
walked  quietly  down  to  the  pond.  Making 
a  little  croony  sound  in  his  throat,  he  put 
out  his  hand  towards  the  swans,  but  with  no 
crumbs  to  tempt  them. 

The  swans  had  never  before  seen  him. 
But  as  soon  as  they  heard  his  voice  you 


AND   THE  MICE  151 

should  have  seen  the  commotion!  How 
the  water  did  wrinkle  and  spatter  as  those 
dignified  birds  scurried  headlong  towards 
Comgall!  Each  one  seemed  trying  to  be 
the  first  to  reach  his  side;  and  each  one 
flapped  his  wings  and  went  almost  into  a  fit 
for  fear  another  should  get  ahead  of  him. 
So  finally  they  reached  the  bank  and  gath- 
ered around  Comgall,  talking  to  him  all  at 
once  and  telling  him  how  much  they  liked 
the  look  of  him.  And  one  great  white  swan 
fluttered  into  the  old  man's  lap  and  sat  there 
letting  himself  be  stroked  and  patted,  stretch- 
ing his  long  neck  up  to  Comgall's  face  and 
trying  to  kiss  him  with  beaky  lips. 

You  can  imagine  how  the  pupils  stared 
at  this  strange  sight.  For  they  knew  that 
the  swans  were  as  truly  strangers  to  Saint 
Comgall  as  to  the  rest  of  them.  But  the 
swans  had  guessed  in  some  way  that  this 
was  a  man  who  loved  all  animals,  and  that 
is  why  they  were  not  afraid,  but  loved  him 
as  soon  as  they  saw  him. 

But  this  next  is  the  stranger  story.  Mice 
are  harder  even  than  swans  for  most  people 
to  get  acquainted  with.  But  Comgall  had 


1 52  SAINT   COMGALL 

also  made  the  mice  his  friends,  as  you  shall 
see. 

There  came  a  time  of  famine  in  Ireland, 
and  there  was  not  food  enough  to  go  around, 
as  has  often  happened  there  from  the  ear- 
liest days  until  even  now.  Comgall  and  his 
household  at  Bangor  were  very  hungry. 
But  what  made  it  hardest  to  bear  was  that 
they  knew  where  there  was  plenty  of  food 
close  by,  if  only  they  could  get  it.  For 
Croadh  was  a  great  Prince  who  lived  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  Croadh  had  barns  and 
storehouses  full  of  grain  which  could  be 
made  into  bread.  But  he  was  a  selfish, 
stingy  man  and  would  not  give  away  or 
even  sell  his  stores,  for  he  would  rather  see 
the  people  starve.  Now  Croadh  had  a 
wicked  old  mother  living  in  his  palace,  who 
was  even  more  cruel  than  himself.  Her 
name  was  Luch,  and  Luch  means  in  Irish 
"  the  Mouse."  And  it  was  her  name  which 
put  an  idea  into  ComgalPs  head. 

After  sending  all  sorts  of  messengers  to 
beg  Croadh  to  give  them  some  of  his  grain ; 
after  trying  all  sorts  of  ways  to  make  him 
sell  it,  Comgall  went  himself  to  the  Prince's 


AND  THE   MICE  153 

palace  to  see  what  he  could  do.  He  carried 
with  him  a  beautiful  silver  goblet  which  had 
been  given  him  by  some  one  as  a  present, 
and  it  was  worth  many  bushels  of  grain. 

Comgall  strode  into  the  Prince's  hall  and 
stood  before  Croadh  holding  out  the  goblet 
in  his  hand.  And  he  said,  — 

"Here,  O  Prince,  is  a  valuable  thing. 
We  are  starving  in  the  monastery,  and  silver 
we  cannot  eat.  Give  me  and  my  monks 
some  of  your  golden  grain  and  I  will  ex- 
change for  it  the  silver  cup.  Be  merciful, 

0  Croadh,  and  hear  me." 

But  the  Chief  only  laughed  and  said  mock- 
ingly, "  Not  so.  You  keep  your  silver  gob- 
let and  I  will  keep  my  golden  grain.  Your 
beggarly  pupils  shall  not  eat  of  my  stores. 

1  want  all,  every  grain,  for  my  old  Mouse." 
And  by  that  word  he  meant  his  mother,  the 
black-eyed,  wrinkled,  gray  old  Luch,  whose 
name  meant  "  the  Mouse."   For  she  was  the 
most   miserly,  wicked,  old  woman   in   the 
world,  and  she  had  made  him  promise  not 
to  give  up  any  of  the  grain.    Then  Com- 
gall was   angry,  because   he   saw  that   the 
Prince  meant  to  see  the  people  starve. 


154  SAINT   COMGALL 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  fixing  his  eyes 
sternly  upon  Croadh,  "  as  you  have  said,  so 
shall  it  be.  The  mouse  shall  have  your 
grain."  And  drawing  his  robe  about  him 
he  strode  home  with  the  useless  silver  goblet. 

As  I  have  said,  the  mice  were  Comgall's 
friends.  He  had  only  to  call  them  and  ex- 
plain what  the  hard-hearted  Prince  had  done ; 
he  had  only  to  tell  the  mice  what  he  wished 
them  to  do,  and  the  matter  was  settled. 
The  word  spread  through  the  kingdom  of 
the  mice,  carried  by  the  quickest  messenger 
with  the  shortest  tail.  All  the  mice  became 
enemies  of  Croadh.  And  there  were  many 
mice  in  Bangor  in  those  days. 

That  very  night  when  every  one  was  asleep, 
out  of  every  hole  and  corner  came  peeping 
little  pointed  noses  and  quivering  whiskers. 
And  a  great  procession  of  long-tailed  tiny 
things  formed  into  line  and  crept  along,  and 
along,  up  the  hill,  and  up  the  walls,  and  into 
the  barns  of  Croadh.  A  legion  of  mice, 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  them  in  a  gray- 
uniformed  army,  pounced  upon  the  Prince's 
precious  grain  and  ate  up  every  kernel. 

So  the  next  morning  when  Croadh  went 


AND  THE  MICE  155 

to  his  barns  he  found  them  empty.  There 
was  not  so  much  as  a  single  yellow  dot  of 
grain  left  anywhere.  But  out  of  every  crack 
and  crevice  peeped  a  pair  of  twinkling  black 
eyes  which  watched  him  saucily.  Then 
Croadh  began  to  bellow  and  roar  with  anger, 
and  the  wicked  old  woman  Luch,  his  mo- 
ther, came  hobbling  in  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.  But  when  the  mice  saw  her  they 
gave  a  chorus  of  fierce  squeaks  as  if  crying 
"  Mouse  !  Mouse !  Mouse !  " 

Then  Croadh  remembered  what  Comgall 
had  said,  that  the  mouse  should  have  his 
grain  after  all.  And  he  guessed  what  the 
Saint  had  meant,  and  knew  that  Comgall 
had  taken  this  way  to  punish  a  selfish  and 
cruel  man. 


THE    WONDERS     OF 
SAINT    BERACH  >  * 

THE  life  of  Saint  Berach  was  full  of 
wonders  from  the  very  first.  For 
when  he  was  a  boy  at  home  in  the 
house  of  his  father,  Nemnald,  he  had  a 
vision.  An  angel  appeared  to  him  and 
beckoned  him  to  follow.  So  he  went,  and 
the  angel  led  him  straight  to  the  monastery 
at  Glendalough  where  holy  Saint  Coemgen 
lived  with  his  friend  the  white  doe,  and 
taught  boys  to  be  wise.  And  Berach  joined 
the  other  boys  to  be  taught  all  that  Saint 
Coemgen  knew,  and  to  learn  other  things 
beside. 

Ireland  was  a  wild  country  in  those  days, 
for  this  was  only  six  hundred  years  after 
Christ's  birth  and  the  little  towns  had  hardly 
begun  to  grow.  The  huts  which  men  had 
made  in  the  wilderness  —  calling  them 
houses  and  schools  and  churches  —  were 
not  close  together  but  far,  far  apart.  Wild 
beasts  prowled  everywhere,  and  there  were 
no  policemen. 

Close  by  the  monastery  were  the  broad 


SAINT  BERACH  157 

green  meadows  where  the  monks  pastured 
the  herds  of  cows  which  gave  them  milk. 
From  the  windows  of  his  cell  the  young 
monk  loved  to  watch  the  cows  and  their 
calves  browsing  the  juicy  grass  and  wading 
in  the  brooks  which  ran  under  the  rows  of 
willows.  He  especially  loved  Bel,  the  sleek- 
est, most  beautiful  of  them  all,  a  proud 
mother  cow  who  had  a  new  little  red  calf. 

One  day  as  he  was  watching  Bel  and  her 
baby  who  had  strayed  a  little  distance  from 
the  rest  of  the  herd,  he  saw  something  which 
frightened  him.  A  great  gray  wolf  was  hid- 
ing in  the  shadow  of  a  hedge,  creeping 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  peaceful  pair.  But 
Bel  did  not  guess  that  an  enemy  was  so 
near.  Berach  hurried  down  the  turret  stair 
and  out  of  the  gate,  hardly  pausing  to  tell 
the  brother  porter  whither  he  was  going. 
For  he  knew  there  was  no  time  to  lose. 

He  ran  to  the  meadow,  and  pushed  through 
the  blooming  hedge  of  hawthorne.  But 
alas !  he  had  come  too  late.  The  great 
gaunt  wolf,  who  was  very  hungry,  had 
pounced  upon  the  little  red  calf,  and  had 
eaten  it  up.  Poor  Bel,  wild  with  grief,  ran 


158         THE  WONDERS  OF 

lowing  about  the  pasture  as  if  seeking  for 
her  little  one.  But  the  wolf  was  slinking  out 
of  sight. 

When  Berach  saw  what  had  been  done, 
at  first  he  was  very  angry  with  the  wolf,  for 
he  loved  Bel  dearly,  and  it  troubled  him  to 
see  her  sad.  He  thought  how  lonely  the 
poor  cow  would  be  without  her  calf,  and 
when  she  came  pitifully  lowing  up  to  him 
as  if  asking  him  to  help  her,  the  tears  stood 
in  his  kind  eyes.  But  then  he  thought  how 
hungry  the  wolf  must  have  been.  Poor 
thing,  how  thin  and  hollow  he  had  looked, 
—  perhaps  he  was  not  so  much  to  blame 
after  all.  Probably  he  had  never  been 
taught  any  better. 

And  then  a  strange  idea  came  to  Berach. 
He  was  a  wonderful  man,  and  he  must  have 
had  great  power  over  animals.  For  he 
called  to  the  wolf,  who  was  already  some 
distance  away;  he  called  loudly  and  in  a 
stern  voice.  You  will  hardly  believe  it,  but 
the  wolf  came  slinking  back,  frightened  and 
whining  like  a  naughty  puppy,  and  crouched 
at  Berach's  feet.  Then  the  Saint  spoke 
kindly  to  the  wolf,  no  longer  treating  him 


SAINT   BERACH  159 

like  a  murderer  and  a  thief.  He  called  the 
cow  also,  and  taking  her  by  the  horns  led 
her  gently  to  the  wolf,  soothing  her  so  that 
she  was  not  afraid  of  the  great  gray  beast. 

And  Berach  said  to  the  cow,  "  See,  Mother 
Bel,  this  shall  be  your  child  now,  in  place 
of  the  little  one  which  is  gone.  He  will  be 
a  kind  and  gentle  son  to  you,  I  promise." 
And  to  the  wolf  he  said,  "  Here,  Wolf,  is  the 
mother  whom  you  need  to  make  you  gentle 
and  good.  You  shall  be  kind  to  her,  and 
make  her  forget  the  wrong  you  have  done 
by  being  a  loving  and  dutiful  son,  ever  do- 
ing her  bidding."  So  after  that  the  cow  and 
the  meek  wolf  dwelt  peacefully  together  in 
the  meadows  of  the  monastery,  and  he 
shielded  her  from  danger,  and  like  a  huge 
watchdog  kept  away  the  other  wild  beasts 
from  the  herd. 

After  that  came  a  winter  when  for  weeks 
the  ground  was  white  with  snow,  and  the 
laughing  mouths  of  the  brooks  were  sealed 
with  ice.  Duke  Colman's  little  son  had  been 
sent  to  school  at  the  monastery,  and  the  boy 
was  very  ill.  He  was  hot  and  thirsty,  and 
his  throat  was  parched  with  fever.  So  little 


160         THE   WONDERS  OF 

Edward  begged  for  juicy  apples,  and  for 
salad  of  fresh  sorrel  leaves,  —  things  which 
were  not  to  be  found  in  all  the  land  in  the 
dead  of  winter.  But  Coemgen  the  Abbot 
trusted  in  the  power  of  his  young  friend  who 
could  tame  wolves.  "Go  forth,  my  son," 
he  said  to  Berach,  "  take  my  staff  and  bring 
what  the  boy  needs." 

Then  Berach  retired  to  his  cell  and  prayed 
that  he  might  be  blessed  to  save  the  dear 
child's  life.  After  that  with  faith  and  cour- 
age he  went  out  into  the  white  meadows, 
using  the  Abbot's  staff  to  help  him  over  the 
great  drifts  of  snow.  He  came  to  the  row 
of  willows  by  the  frozen  brook  where  the 
cows  had  loved  to  wade.  And  here  he 
paused.  Lifting  the  staff,  he  touched  the 
bare  brown  branches  of  the  willow  on  which 
the  snow  clung  like  shreds  of  cotton  wool, 
and  he  pronounced  a  blessing.  Instantly  the 
snow  began  to  melt  as  it  does  before  the  sun 
in  April.  The  stiff  brown  twigs  turned  green 
and  became  tender  and  full  of  life.  Then 
gray  willow  buds  put  forth  woolly  little 
pussy-willows,  which  seemed  fairly  bursting, 
like  fat  round  kittens.  They  grew  bigger 


SAINT  BERACH  161 

and  bigger,  rounder  and  rounder,  till  at  last 
they  really  did  burst,  and  plumped  great 
rosy-cheeked  apples  into  the  lap  of  the  Saint, 
who  held  up  the  skirt  of  his  gray  gown  to 
catch  them  as  they  fell.  Lo,  under  the  trees 
meanwhile  the  snowdrifts  had  melted,  and 
little  green  leaves  were  poking  up  through 
the  frozen  ground.  And  Berach  gathered 
there  a  great  bunch  of  juicy,  tart  sorrel  which 
makes  such  good  salad.  Then  with  his 
arms  full,  —  what  with  this  and  his  apples 
and  the  blessed  staff,  —  he  floundered  back 
through  the  snowdrifts  to  the  monastery. 
They  received  him  eagerly  and  there  was 
great  rejoicing.  Little  Edward  was  revived 
by  the  out-of-season  dainties  thus  miracu- 
lously provided  for  him,  and  soon  became 
quite  well  again. 

It  was  many  years  after  this,  again  a  hard 
and  cruel  winter,  when  Saint  Berach  made 
another  wonder  come  to  pass.  Meantime 
he  had  grown  older  and  even  wiser.  He  had 
himself  been  made  Abbot  and  had  built  a 
monastery  of  his  own  in  a  lonely  place  far 
away  from  Glendalough.  But  he  had  an 
enemy.  There  was  a  rich  man  who  wanted 


1 62         THE  WONDERS  OF 

the  land  which  Berach  had  chosen,  and  who 
was  so  envious  that  he  tried  to  do  him  spite 
in  every  way  he  could.  He  even  sought 
to  destroy  the  monastery.  Then  Berach  ap- 
pealed to  the  King  for  protection,  and  both 
men  were  summoned  to  the  court. 

The  rich  man  went  in  a  chariot,  splendid 
in  his  fine  robes  of  fur,  with  a  gold  chain 
about  his  neck.  And  the  guards  hurried  to 
let  down  the  portcullis  for  him,  and  with  low 
bows  bade  him  enter.  But  when  Saint  Be- 
rach came  he  wore  only  his  gray  monk's  robe, 
all  torn  and  tattered.  He  was  shivering  with 
cold,  and  weak  from  having  walked  so  far. 
So  they  thought  him  a  mere  beggar  and 
would  not  let  him  in.  As  he  stood  outside 
the  gate,  friendless  and  alone,  some  rude  boys 
who  had  gathered  there  began  to  laugh  and 
jeer  at  his  bare  sandaled  feet  and  the  rents 
in  his  robe  through  which  the  cold  winds 
blew.  They  made  snowballs  and  rushed 
upon  him  in  a  crowd,  like  the  cowards  they 
were,  pelting  the  poor  man  most  cruelly. 
But  suddenly,  what  do  you  think  *?  Their 
arms  stiffened  as  they  raised  them  to  throw 
the  balls ;  their  legs  stuck  fast  in  the  snow ; 


SAINT   BERACH  163 

the  grins  froze  on  their  faces ;  and  they  were 
almost  choked  by  the  shouts  which  turned 
to  ice  in  their  throats.  What  had  happened  ? 
Well,  Saint  Berach  had  merely  breathed 
upon  them,  and  they  were  as  if  turned  into 
ice,  so  that  they  could  not  stir.  Br-r-r ! 
How  cold  they  were ! 

Then  the  Saint  made  ready  to  warm  him- 
self. A  drift  of  snow  had  fallen  from  the 
palace  gate  when  it  opened  to  let  in  the  rich 
man.  And  going  up  to  this  he  blew  upon 
it.  He  blew  a  warm  breath  this  time.  In- 
stantly the  whole  heap  burst  into  flame,  and 
snapped  and  crackled  like  the  fire  in  the 
chimney-place  of  the  dining-hall  at  home. 
In  front  of  this  merry  blaze  the  good  Saint 
stood,  warming  his  hands  and  thawing  out 
his  poor  frozen  feet.  But  the  group  of  boys 
stood  like  statues  of  snow ;  so  cold,  so  cold, 
but  unable  to  come  nearer  to  the  fire;  so 
frightened,  so  frightened,  but  unable  to  run 
away. 

This  is  what  the  King's  guards  saw  when, 
terrified  by  the  crackling  of  the  fire  and  the 
great  light  which  shone  through  the  chinks 
of  the  gate,  they  came  to  see  what  it  all 


1 64         THE  WONDERS  OF 

meant.  They  ran  to  the  King  and  told  him 
of  the  strange  sight.  And  he  himself  with  a 
crowd  of  courtiers  came  out  to  look.  When 
he  saw  the  ragged  beggar  who  had  done  all 
this  he  was  filled  with  amazement.  He  im- 
mediately suspected  that  this  must  be  a  holy 
man  and  powerful.  So  he  invited  Berach 
into  the  palace  hall,  and  there  listened  to  his 
story. 

Now  when  all  was  done  the  rich  man  was 
bundled  away  in  disgrace,  for  daring  to  med- 
dle with  the  good  works  of  so  wonderful  a 
Saint.  But  Berach  was  honored  and  admired. 

Before  he  went  back  to  his  monastery  they 
begged  him  to  restore  the  naughty  boys  to 
life  and  motion.  Now  Berach  had  wanted 
only  to  teach  them  a  lesson,  not  to  punish 
them  too  severely;  for  he  was  too  kind- 
hearted  to  injure  any  living  creature.  So 
going  out  into  the  courtyard  he  blew  upon 
the  snow  figures,  and  once  more  they  be- 
came live  boys.  You  can  imagine  how 
glad  they  were  when  they  found  they  were 
able  to  move  their  legs  and  arms  again. 

Now  Berach  went  back  to  his  monastery 
in  one  of  the  King's  chariots,  with  a  robe  of 


SAINT   BERACH  165 

fur  and  a  gold  chain  about  his  neck.  And 
you  may  be  sure  he  carried  with  him  many 
other  gifts  and  precious  things  from  the 
King,  who  never  thereafter  suffered  him  to 
be  troubled  in  his  far-off  retreat. 


SAINT   PRISCA,   THE 
CHILD   MARTYR  £  t 

SAINT   PRISCA'S  name   has   always 
been  dearly  loved,  especially  in  Eng- 
land.   January  eighteenth  is  the  day 
which  is  sacred  to  her,  and  she  lived  over 
seventeen  hundred  years  ago.   She  is  one  of 
the  few  child-martyrs  whose  names  have  come 
down  to  us  from  those  early  days,  although 
there  were  many  other  brave  children  who 
suffered  and  were  strong,  and  who,  at  last, 
gave  their  lives  to  prove  their  faith. 

Saint  Prisca  was  a  little  Roman  girl  whose 
parents  were  Christians  of  a  noble  family. 
Claudius  was  the  Emperor  at  that  time,  and 
though  during  his  reign  the  Christians  were 
not  persecuted  in  such  numbers  as  they  had 
been  before  that,  still  many  cruel  things  were 
done  here  and  there,  and  it  was  a  dangerous 
thing  to  be  a  Christian. 

It  was  in  the  evil  times  when  one  did  not 
always  dare  to  say  what  he  really  thought, 
nor  publicly  to  worship  as  he  believed  was 
right.  Many  of  the  Christians  were  not 
ashamed  to  conceal  their  real  belief  from  the 


THE   CHILD   MARTYR       167 

heathen  Romans,  who  were  everywhere  seek- 
ing with  hatred  for  the  followers  of  Christ,  to 
torture  and  slay  them. 

Prisca's  father  and  mother  had  managed  to 
keep  their  secret,  and  were  not  suspected  of 
being  Christians.  They  probably  went  to 
church  in  the  secret  chapels  which  the  Chris- 
tians had  dug  deep  in  the  ground  under  the 
city.  In  these  dark,  gloomy  catacombs,  as 
they  were  called,  the  Christians  held  services 
directly  under  the  feet  of  the  cruel  Romans, 
who  were  passing  overhead  without  suspect- 
ing what  was  going  on  so  near  to  them. 

But  Prisca  scorned  to  use  any  precaution. 
Small  and  defenseless  though  she  was,  she 
did  not  fear  to  tell  every  one  what  she  be- 
lieved and  Whose  Cross  she  followed.  So 
she  soon  became  known  as  a  firm  little  Chris- 
tian maiden.  And  there  were  people  in  the 
city  cruel  enough  and  wicked  enough  to  hate 
even  a  little  child-Christian  and  to  wish  her 
evil. 

These  persons  reported  to  the  Emperor's 
officers  her  brave  words  of  faith,  and  told 
them  how  she  would  not  sacrifice  to  the 
Roman  gods  as  the  other  children  did.  So 


i68  SAINT   PRISCA 

very  soon  she  was  seized  by  the  guards  and 
brought  before  the  Emperor. 

Claudius  looked  at  the  little  maid  in  sur- 
prise to  find  her  so  young.  And  he  thought  : 
"  Ho !  I  shall  easily  make  this  small  Chris- 
tian change  her  mind  and  obey  me."  And 
he  bade  his  men  take  her  to  the  temple  of 
Apollo  and  make  her  offer  incense  to  the 
beautiful  god  of  the  silver  bow.  So  they  car- 
ried her  to  the  top  of  the  Palatine,  one  of  the 
seven  hills  on  which  Rome  was  built. 

They  first  passed  under  a  great  marble 
arch  and  came  into  a  fair  courtyard  sur- 
rounded by  fifty-two  marble  pillars.  In  the 
centre  of  this  space  stood  the  temple  of 
Apollo,  the  most  magnificent  building  in  all 
Rome.  With  its  ivory  gates  and  wonderful 
groups  of  statues,  its  inlaid  marble  floors  and 
altars  wreathed  with  flowers,  its  golden  tri- 
pods breathing  incense,  its  lamps  and  beauti- 
ful silver  vases,  it  was  a  very  different  place 
from  the  bare,  dark  caverns  in  which  the 
Christians  worshiped.  In  front  of  the  temple 
was  a  group  of  four  oxen  made  of  bronze, 
and  in  the  centre  of  this  group  burned  a  fire 
upon  a  golden  tripod.  This  was  the  altar  to 


THE   CHILD   MARTYR       169 


SAINT   PRISCA 

Apollo,  the  sun-god,  whose  enormous  golden 
statue,  in  his  four-horse  chariot,  stood  over 
the  door  of  the  temple  just  above.  He  was 
the  likeness  of  a  beautiful  youth  with  a 


i  yo  SAINT   PRISCA 

wreath  of  bay  about  his  head,  carrying  a  bow 
in  his  hand,  with  which  Apollo  was  believed 
to  shoot  the  sunbeams  down  upon  the  earth. 

They  thrust  incense  into  Prisca's  hand  and 
bade  her  throw  a  few  grains  into  the  fire  in 
honor  of  the  beautiful  god  of  the  sun.  It 
seemed  a  very  simple  thing  to  do,  to  save 
her  life,  — just  to  scatter  a  handful  of  dark 
powder  on  the  flames.  Prisca  loved  the  dear 
sun  as  well  as  any  one,  but  she  knew  it  was 
foolish  to  believe  that  he  was  a  god,  and 
wicked  to  worship  his  statue  in  place  of  the 
great  God  who  made  the  sun  and  everything 
else.  So  Prisca  refused  to  burn  the  incense. 

Then  the  Emperor  was  very  angry,  and 
bade  the  soldiers  whip  her  until  she  obeyed 
his  command.  But  they  could  not  make  her 
yield  by  cruelty.  Even  the  hard-hearted  Ro- 
mans who  had  come  to  look  on  admired  her 
bravery  and  pitied  her  suffering.  The  women 
wept  to  see  her  so  cruelly  treated,  and  the 
men  cried,  "  Shame !  shame !  to  torture  a 
little  child." 

And  then  a  beautiful  thing  happened ;  for 
Prisca  appeared  dressed  in  a  robe  of  yellow 
sunshine.  A  wonderful  light  shone  all  about 


THE  CHILD  MARTYR       171 

her,  and  she  seemed  herself  a  little  star  giv- 
ing out  light,  so  brightly  did  her  brave  spirit 
shine  among  those  cruel  men. 

It  seemed  as  if  no  child  could  bear  all  this 
suffering  without  yielding,  and  the  Emperor 
hoped  she  would  give  in,  for  he  did  not  want 
to  have  her  killed.  But  Prisca  was  firm,  and 
would  not  make  the  sacrifice.  The  Emperor 
was  surprised  to  find  a  child  so  brave.  He 
ordered  them  to  drag  her  away  to  prison  and 
to  keep  her  there  for  many  days.  Here  she 
was  most  unhappy,  —  lonely  and  cold  and 
hungry  often,  wondering  what  dreadful  thing 
was  to  happen  next.  But  her  heart  was  al- 
ways brave,  and  she  was  not  afraid. 

After  a  long  time,  one  morning  the  guard 
came  for  little  Prisca.  They  led  her  forth 
into  the  dear  sunshine,  and  glad  she  was  to 
see  it  and  the  blue  sky  once  more.  But  it 
was  only  for  a  short  time  that  they  let  her 
enjoy  even  this  little  pleasure ;  for  they 
brought  her  to  the  amphitheatre,  a  great  open 
place  like  the  circus,  with  tiers  upon  tiers  of 
seats  all  about,  and  crowds  of  faces  looking 
down  into  the  centre  where  she  was. 

Prisca  knew  what  this  meant,  for  she  had 


1 72  SAINT   PRISCA 

often  heard  how  the  Christians  were  put  into 
the  arena  to  be  torn  in  pieces  by  wild  beasts. 
And  kneeling  down  on  the  sand  she  made  a 
little  prayer,  not  that  she  might  be  saved  from 
the  fierce  beasts,  but  that  she  might  have 
courage  to  show  her  Christian  bravery  and 
teach  a  lesson  to  these  fiercer  men  and  women 
who  were  looking  on. 

Then  the  keeper  opened  the  grated  door 
of  a  den  at  the  end  of  the  arena,  and  out 
stalked  a  great  yellow  lion.  With  a  dreadful 
roar  he  rushed  into  the  centre  of  the  circle, 
and  stood  there  lashing  his  tail  and  flashing 
his  big  yellow  eyes  all  about  the  place.  Then 
suddenly  he  spied  the  little  girl  standing 
quietly  at  one  side  with  her  hands  clasped  in 
front  of  her,  looking  at  him  without  fear. 
And  the  great  beast  strode  gently  up  to  her 
on  his  padded  paws.  He  bent  his  head  and 
licked  her  little  bare  feet,  and  then  he 
crouched  down  by  her  side,  as  a  Saint  Ber- 
nard dog  might  place  himself  to  guard  his 
little  mistress.  And  this  is  why  the  old  pic- 
tures of  Saint  Prisca  represent  her  with  a  lion 
by  her  side. 

There  fell  a   great  silence  on  the  tented 


THE  CHILD  MARTYR       173 

place.  The  Emperor  and  all  the  people  sat 
perfectly  still,  wondering  at  the  strange  sight 
and  admiring  the  courage  of  the  child ;  for 
she  had  reached  out  her  hand  and  was  strok- 
ing the  yellow  head  of  the  lion,  playing  with 
his  mane.  She  bent  her  head  and  no  one 
heard  her  whisper  into  his  ear :  — 

"  My  good  friend !  you  will  not  hurt  me, 
I  know,  for  the  Lord  has  closed  your  mouth, 
just  as  he  did  the  mouths  of  the  lions  into 
whose  den  Daniel  was  thrown  by  wicked 
men.  These  cruel  men  will  put  me  to  death, 
but  you  are  kinder  than  they." 

And  the  lion  looked  up  in  her  face  as 
though  he  understood,  and  growled  softly. 
He  was  quite  gentle  with  her,  but  when  the 
keeper  came  towards  them  he  roared  and 
bristled  and  showed  his  great  teeth,  so  that 
for  a  long  time  no  one  dared  to  come  near. 

But  even  the  lion  could  not  save  her  from 
the  death  which  she  had  no  wish  to  shun. 
At  last  they  captured  him  and  took  him 
away.  The  Emperor's  heart  was  softened  by 
Prisca's  bravery,  and  he  wished  to  give  her 
one  more  chance  to  save  her  life.  They  shut 
her  up  for  many  days  in  the  heathen  temple, 


174  SAINT  PRISCA 

and  tried  in  every  way  to  make  her  sacrifice 
to  the  gods  and  give  up  Christianity.  They 
coaxed  her  and  made  her  fine  promises ;  they 
threatened  and  punished  her.  But  still  Prisca 
stood  firm,  although  she  was  now  very  worn 
and  tired  and  ill  because  she  had  suffered  so 
much. 

So  when  she  had  borne  it  all  patiently  and 
bravely,  and  they  saw  it  was  impossible  to 
make  a  little  Christian  turn  back  again  into 
a  little  heathen,  they  led  her  away  down  the 
road  which  leads  south  from  the  Palatine 
hill,  to  the  place  of  execution.  This  was  just 
outside  the  Ostian  gate,  an  archway  in  the 
great  wall  which  surrounded  Rome,  through 
which  the  road  led  to  the  town  of  Ostium 
and  to  the  sea.  Just  outside  this  gate,  to 
show  that  they  were  no  longer  worthy  of 
being  Romans  and  living  within  its  walls, 
criminals  were  executed.  And  here  many 
Christian  martyrs  lost  their  lives.  Prisca  was 
one  of  these,  for  here  she  was  beheaded. 
And  till  the  very  end  she  neither  cried  nor 
screamed  nor  was  in  any  way  afraid.  And  so 
she  became  Saint  Prisca,  a  little  martyr. 

Then  another  strange  thing  befell.   When 


THE  CHILD  MARTYR       175 

she  died  a  great  eagle  appeared  in  the  sky, 
hovering  over  Saint  Prisca's  body  far  up  in 
the  air.  And  when  any  of  the  Romans  ven- 
tured near  her  the  eagle  swooped  down  upon 
them  with  dreadful  cries  and  flapping  of  his 
wings.  And  his  round  gray  eyes  looked  so 
fierce  and  his  claws  so  long  and  sharp,  that  no 
one  dared  to  touch  her  for  fear  of  the  bird. 
Saint  Prisca  had  found  another  protector  in 
cruel  Rome.  And  this  is  why  many  of  the 
old  pictures  of  Saint  Prisca's  martyrdom  show 
a  great  eagle  hovering  over  her. 

The  creature  guarded  her  body  night  and 
day,  driving  every  one  away,  until  the  Chris- 
tians, who  had  been  waiting  for  the  chance 
to  venture  out,  came  secretly  one  night  and 
carried  her  away.  They  buried  her  where  the 
Romans  could  not  find  her,  in  their  little 
secret  cemetery  in  the  catacombs.  This  is 
how  Saint  Prisca  lived  and  died  two  hundred 
and  seventy  years  after  Christ's  birth.  But  I 
wish  we  knew  what  became  of  the  noble  lion 
and  the  devoted  eagle. 


THE  FISH  WHO  HELPED 
SAINT  GUDWALL  *  *  * 

THE  Welsh  coast  is  famous  for  its 
beautiful    scenery   and    its   terrible 
storms.   People  who    see  it  in   the 
summer  time  think   only  of  the   beautiful 
scenery.    But  if  they  should  happen  to  pass 
that  way  in  midwinter  they  would  be  very 
apt  to  meet  an  unpleasant  reminder  of  the 
terrible  storms. 

Saint  Gudwall  was  born  a  Welshman,  and 
he  should  have  known  all  this.  Perhaps  he 
did  know,  but  chose  to  run  into  danger  just 
because  it  was  dangerous,  as  so  many  saints 
loved  to  do  in  those  years  when  it  was 
thought  no  virtue  to  take  care  of  one's  life. 
At  all  events,  it  was  summer  when  with  one 
friend  Gudwall  moved  to  his  new  home,  a 
tiny  island  off  the  coast  of  Wales,  which  at 
that  time  was  very  beautiful. 

The  first  thing  they  did  was  to  set  about 
finding  a  place  to  live  in.  The  island  was 
one  of  those  high  mountains  poking  up  out 
of  the  sea,  with  green  grass  on  top,  like  col- 
ored frosting  to  a  cake;  and  gray  rocks 


SAINT   GUDWALL  177 

below,  all  hollowed  out  into  deep  caves  and 
crannies,  as  if  mice  had  been  nibbling  at  the 
cake.  These  caves  are  just  the  sort  of  places 
which  smugglers  and  pirates  choose  to  hide 
in  with  their  treasures,  for  no  one  would 
think  of  hunting  for  any  one  there.  And 
Gudwall  wanted  to  be  left  alone  with  his 
pupil ;  so  he  thought  there  was  no  reason 
why  a  bad  man's  hiding-place  should  not 
make  a  good  saint's  retreat.  So  they  chose 
the  largest  and  deepest  of  all  the  caves,  and 
there  they  put  their  books  and  their  beds 
and  their  little  furniture,  and  set  up  house- 
keeping. 

Their  home  was  one  of  those  caves  into 
which  the  sea  rushes  a  little  way  and  then 
suddenly  backs  out  again  as  if  it  had  changed 
its  mind  this  time  but  would  call  again. 
Gudwall  and  his  pupil  loved  to  lie  in  their 
cave  just  beyond  the  reach  of  the  waves  and 
watch  them  dash  laughingly  up  on  the  rocks, 
then  roar  and  gurgle  in  pretended  anger  and 
creep  away  out  into  the  blue  basin  beyond. 
In  summer  their  daily  games  with  the  sea 
were  great  fun,  and  Gudwall  was  very  happy. 
They  spent  some  lovely  months  alone  with 


i78     THE  FISH   WHO   HELPED 

the  waves  and  the  rocks  and  the  sea-birds 
which  now  and  then  fluttered  screaming  into 
the  dark  cave,  and  then  again  dashed  bash- 
fully out  when  they  found  they  had  come 
uninvited  into  a  stranger's  home.  It  was  all 
very  nice  and  peaceful  and  pretty  in  the 
summer  time,  just  as  tourists  find  it  to  this 
day. 

But  oh !  what  a  change  when  old  Winter 
came  roaring  down  over  the  waves  from  the 
North  in  his  chariot  of  ice,  drawn  by  fierce 
winds  and  angry  storm-clouds.  Then  the 
temper  of  the  sea  was  changed.  It  grew 
cruel  and  hungry.  It  left  off  its  kindly 
game  with  the  lonely  dwellers  on  the  island, 
and  seemed  instead  to  have  become  their 
enemy.  It  tried  to  seize  and  swallow  them 
in  its  cruel  jaws. 

One  morning  there  came  a  terrible  storm. 
In  the  far  end  of  the  cave  Gudwall  and  the 
other  were  nearly  swept  away  by  a  huge 
wave  which  rushed  in  to  devour  them.  No 
longer  content  with  pausing  on  the  threshold, 
the  sea  swept  through  their  whole  house, 
dashing  away  their  little  store  of  books  and 
furniture,  a  most  unneighborly  thing  to  do. 


SAINT  GUDWALL  179 

It  tried  to  drag  the  two  men  from  the  corner 
where  they  clung  to  the  rough  rock.  Choked 
and  gasping  they  escaped  this  time,  while 
the  sea  drew  back  for  another  plunge.  But 
they  did  not  wait  for  this,  for  they  knew  it 
would  mean  their  death. 

Drenched  as  they  were  and  blinded  by 
the  salt  spray,  they  scrambled  out  of  the 
cave  and  began  to  climb  the  slippery  sea- 
weed to  the  rocks  above.  It  was  a  hard  and 
dangerous  ascent,  for  the  sea  leaped  after 
them  to  pull  them  back,  snarling  angrily  at 
their  heels  like  a  fierce  beast  maddened  by 
their  escape.  But  it  could  not  quite  seize 
them,  and  at  last  they  reached  the  top  of  the 
cliff  where  they  were  safe  for  the  time. 

But  what  were  they  to  do  now  ?  There 
were  no  houses  on  the  island,  no  place  to 
go  to  keep  warm ;  yet  they  could  not  live 
out  in  the  open  air  to  freeze  in  the  snow 
and  cold.  It  was  no  longer  possible  to  live 
in  the  cave  if  the  sea  was  to  wash  through 
it  like  this.  But  if  only  there  were  some  bar- 
rier to  keep  out  the  stormy  waves  they  could 
still  live  in  their  beloved  cave.  Saint  Gud- 
wall  fell  upon  his  knees  and  prayed  for  help, 


i8o    THE  FISH  WHO  HELPED 

—  prayed  for  some  defense  against  the  win- 
ter waves. 

And  what  do  you  think  happened?  The 
dwellers  in  the  sea  were  kinder  than  the  sea 
itself.  The  little  fish  who  live  safely  in  the 
angriest  waves  were  sorry  for  the  big  men 
who  were  so  powerless  in  the  face  of  this 
danger.  From  the  sea  caves  far  under  the 
island's  foot,  from  the  beds  of  seaweed  and 
the  groves  of  coral,  from  the  sandy  bottom 
of  the  ocean  fathoms  deep  below,  the  fish 
came  swimming  in  great  shoals  about  Gud- 
wall's  island.  And  each  one  bore  in  his 
mouth  a  grain  of  sand.  They  swam  into  the 
shallow  water  just  outside  the  cave  where 
Gudwall  had  lived,  and  one  by  one  they 
placed  their  burdens  on  the  sandy  bottom. 
One  by  one  they  paused  to  see  that  it  was 
well  done,  then  swiftly  swam  away,  to  return 
as  soon  as  might  be  with  another  grain  of 
sand.  All  day  long  a  procession  of  fish,  like 
people  in  line  at  a  ticket  office,  moved  stead- 
ily up  to  the  shallows  and  back  again.  So 
by  night  a  little  bar  of  sand  had  begun  to 
grow  gradually  before  the  entrance  to  the 
cave. 


SAINT  GUDWALL  181 

Now  Saint  Gudwall  and  his  pupil  were 
shivering  on  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  looking 
off  to  sea,  when  the  pupil  caught  his  master's 
arm.  "What  is  that  down  there  in  the 
water  ? "  he  said,  pointing  to  a  little  brown 
spot  peering  above  the  waves. 

"  I  know  not,"  answered  the  Saint ;  "  what 
seems  it  to  be,  brother  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  watching  it,"  said  the  other, 
"  and  I  think  it  grows.  Look !  it  is  even 
now  higher  than  when  first  you  looked ;  is  it 
not  so?" 

And  sure  enough.  Gudwall  saw  that  ever 
so  little  at  a  time  the  brown  patch  was  grow- 
ing and  spreading  from  right  to  left.  Grain 
by  grain  the  sand  bar  rose  higher  and  higher 
till  it  thrust  bravely  above  the  blueness  a 
solid  wall  extending  for  some  distance 
through  the  water  in  front  of  the  cave. 
Against  this  new  breakwater  the  surf  roared 
and  foamed  in  terrible  rage,  but  it  could  not 
pass,  it  could  no  longer  swoop  down  into  the 
cavern  as  it  had  done  before. 

"  The  Lord  has  given  us  a  defense,"  said 
Gudwall  with  a  thankful  heart.  And  then 
his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  great  bluefish  swim- 


1 82     THE   FISH   WHO   HELPED 

ming  back  into  the  deep  sea.  "  It  is  the  fish 
who  have  built  us  the  wall,"  he  cried. 
"Blessed  be  the  fish  who  have  this  day 
helped  us  in  our  need." 

For  the  fish  had  piled  up  a  stout  and  last- 
ing barrier  between  Saint  Gudwall  and  the 
angry  sea,  and  thenceforth  he  could  live  in 
his  cave  safely  during  both  summer  and 
winter. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  SAINT 
GILES  AND  THE  DEER 

ALL  in  the  forest  far  away 
Where  no  one  ever  came, 
There  dwelt  a  good  man,  old  and 

gray,— 
Saint  Giles  the  hermit's  name. 

His  forest  home  a  rocky  cave 

Beneath  an  aspen  tree ; 
And  for  his  friend  Saint  Giles  did  have 

A  Deer,  who  wandered  free. 

A  gentle  red  and  mottled  Deer 
Who  made  her  home  close  by, 

Who  at  his  call  came  without  fear, 
Forgetting  to  be  shy. 

Sure  never  all  in  lovely  France 

Was  there  a  Deer  so  tame  ; 
Ah,  but  to  see  her  start  and  prance 

When  he  would  call  her  name ! 

She  gave  him  milk,  his  simple  fare, 
And  browsed  upon  the  green, 


1 84    BALLAD  OF  SAINT  GILES 

Ah,  such  a  gentle,  loving  pair 
I  wis  was  never  seen. 

And  he  was  happy  in  his  cell, 

And  joyous  'neath  his  trees, 
Content  with  woodland  beasts  to  dwell, 

His  only  neighbors  these. 

The  wood  was  dark,  the  wood  was  grim, 

And  never  till  one  day 
Had  human  voices  troubled  him, 

Or  world-folk  passed  that  way. 

But  on  a  dewy  springtime  morn 
When  April  climbed  the  hill, 

There  came  the  wind  of  silver  horn, 
Halloos  and  whistles  shrill ; 

The  galloping  of  horses'  feet, 

The  bloody  bay  of  hounds, 
Broke  through  the  forest  silence  sweet 

And  echoed  deadly  sounds. 

Saint  Giles  sat  in  his  lonely  cell, 
Whenas  the  rout  drew  nigh; 

But  at  the  noise  his  kind  heart  fell 
And  sorrow  dimmed  his  eye. 


AND   THE  DEER  185 

He  loved  not  men  who  hunt  to  kill, 

Loved  not  the  rich  and  grand, 
For  in  those  days  the  Pagans  still 

Held  lordship  in  the  land. 

But  scarcely  had  he  reached  the  door 

And  seized  his  staff  of  oak, 
When  like  a  billow  with  a  roar 

The  chase  upon  him  broke. 

With  one  last  hope  of  dear  escape, 

Into  the  open  space 
Bounded  a  light  and  graceful  shape, 

The  quarry  of  the  chase. 

All  flecked  with  foam,  all  quivering 

With  weariness  and  fear, 
Crouched  at  his  feet  the  hunted  thing, 

His  gentle  friend,  the  Deer. 

Behind  her  bayed  the  pack  of  hounds, 
Their  cruel  teeth  gleamed  white, 

Nearing  with  eager  leaps  and  bounds ; 
He  turned  sick  at  the  sight. 

Saint  Giles  looked  down  upon  the  Deer, 
Saint  Giles  looked  up  again, 


1 86    BALLAD  OF  SAINT  GILES 

He  saw  the  danger  drawing  near, 
The  death,  with  all  its  pain. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  head, 

The  soft  head  of  his  friend,  — 
"  And  shall  I  let  thee  die  ?  "  he  said, 

"  And  watch  thy  hapless  end  ?  " 

He  stooped  and  gently  murmured,  "  Nay !  " 

Stroking  her  mottled  side, 
He  stepped  before  her  where  she  lay ; 

"  They  slay  me  first !  "  he  cried. 

Her  frightened  eyes  looked  up  at  him, 

Her  little  heart  beat  high, 
She  trembled  sore  in  every  limb,  — 

The  bushes  parted  nigh. 

"  Halloo  !  Halloo ! "  the  huntsmen  cried 
As  through  the  hedge  they  burst ; 

An  archer  all  in  green  espied 
The  crouching  quarry  first. 

Swift  as  a  thought  his  arrow  flew, 

Saint  Giles  threw  out  his  arm, 
Alack !  the  aim  was  all  too  true, 

Saint  Giles  must  bear  the  harm. 


AND   THE  DEER  187 

The  arrow  pierced  too  well,  too  well ; 

All  in  that  mournful  wood 
Saint  Giles  upon  the  greensward  fell, 

And  dyed  it  with  his  blood. 

He  fell,  but  falling  laid  his  hand 

Upon  the  trembling  Deer,  — 
"  My  life  for  hers,  dost  understand  ?  " 

He  cried  so  all  could  hear. 

Now  as  upon  the  green  he  lay 

All  in  a  deathly  swound, 
The  King  dashed  up  with  courtiers  gay 

And  looked  upon  his  wound ; 

The  King  rode  up,  and  "  Ho !  "  he  cried, 
"  Whom  find  we  in  our  wood  ? 

Who  spares  the  deer  with  mottled  hide  *? 
Who  sheds  an  old  man's  blood?  " 

The  King  looked  down  with  mthful  eye 

When  all  the  thing  was  told, 
"  Alack ! "  he  cried,  "  he  must  not  die, 

So  kind  a  man  and  bold. 

"  Bear  me  the  Saint  into  his  cave ; 
Who  falls  to  save  his  friend 


1 88     BALLAD  OF   SAINT  GILES 

Deserves  for  leech  his  King  to  have ; 
I  will  his  pallet  tend." 

They  spared  to  him  the  sore-bought  Deer ; 

And  in  that  lowly  cell 
For  many  weary  days  and  drear 

The  King  came  there  to  dwell. 

The  King,  who  was  a  godless  man, 

A  pagan,  heart  and  soul, 
Played  nurse  until  the  wound  began 

To  heal,  and  Giles  was  whole. 

But  in  the  little  forest  cave 

The  King  learned  many  things 

Known  to  the  meanest  Christian  slave, 
But  secrets  from  the  kings. 

For  good  Saint  Giles  had  won  his  heart 

By  his  brave  deed  and  bold, 
And  ere  the  great  King  did  depart 

His  Christian  faith  he  told. 

And  while  the  red  Deer  stood  beside, 
The  King  gave  Giles  his  word 

That  e'er  a  Christian  he  would  bide, 
And  keep  what  he  had  heard. 


AND  THE  DEER  189 

And  so  the  monarch  rode  away 

And  left  the  two  alone, 
Saint  Giles  a  happy  man  that  day, 

The  good  Deer  still  his  own. 

Safe  from  the  eager  hunting  horde 
The  Saint  would  keep  his  friend, 

Protected  by  the  King's  own  word 
Thenceforth  unto  the  end. 

For  unmolested  in  his  cell, 

Careless  of  everything 
Giles  with  his  friendly  Deer  could  dwell 

Liege  to  a  Christian  King. 


THE  WOLF-MOTHER  OF 
SAINT  AILBE  *  >  *  *  > 

THIS  is  the  story  of  a  poor  little  Irish 
baby  whose  cruel  father  and  mother 
did  not  care  anything  about  him. 
But  because  they  could  not  sell  him  nor  give 
him  away  they  tried  to  lose  him.  They 
wrapped  him  in  a  piece  of  cloth  and  took 
him  up  on  the  mountain  side,  and  there  they 
left  him  lying. all  alone  on  a  bush  of  heather. 

Now  an  old  mother  wolf  was  out  taking 
her  evening  walk  on  the  mountain  after 
tending  her  babies  in  the  den  all  day.  And 
just  as  she  was  passing  the  heather  bush  she 
heard  a  faint,  funny  little  cry.  She  pricked 
up  her  pointed  ears  and  said,  "  What 's  that ! " 
And  lo  and  behold,  when  she  came  to  sniff 
out  the  mystery  with  her  keen  nose,  it  led 
her  straight  to  the  spot  where  the  little  pink 
baby  lay,  crying  with  cold  and  hunger. 

The  heart  of  the  kind  mother  wolf  was 
touched,  for  she  thought  of  her  own  little 
ones  at  home,  and  how  sad  it  would  be  to 
see  them  so  helpless  and  lonely  and  forgotten. 
So  she  picked  the  baby  up  in  her  mouth 


SAINT  AILBE  191 

carefully  and  ran  home  with  him  to  her  den 
in  the  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 
Here  the  little  one,  whose  name  was  Ailbe, 
lived  with  the  baby  wolves,  sharing  their 
breakfast  and  dinner  and  supper,  playing 
and  quarreling  and  growing  up  with  them. 
The  wolf-mother  took  good  care  of  him  and 
saw  that  he  had  the  best  of  everything,  for 
she  loved  him  dearly  indeed.  And  Ailbe 
grew  stronger  and  stronger,  taller  and  taller, 
handsomer  and  handsomer  every  day,  living 
his  happy  life  in  the  wild  woods  of  green 
Ireland. 

Now  one  day,  a  year  or  two  after  this,  a 
hunter  came  riding  over  the  mountain  on 
his  way  home  from  the  chase,  and  he  hap- 
pened to  pass  near  the  cave  where  Ailbe  and 
the  wolves  lived.  As  he  was  riding  along 
under  the  trees  he  saw  a  little  white  creature 
run  across  the  path  in  front  of  him.  At  first 
he  thought  it  was  a  rabbit ;  but  it  was  too 
big  for  a  rabbit,  and  besides  it  did  not  hop. 
The  hunter  jumped  down  from  his  horse  and 
ran  after  the  funny  animal  to  find  out  what 
it  was.  His  long  legs  soon  overtook  it  in  a 
clump  of  bushes  where  it  was  hiding,  and 


1 92     THE  WOLF-MOTHER  OF 

imagine  the  hunter's  surprise  when  he  found 
that  it  had  neither  fur  nor  horns  nor  four  feet 
nor  a  tail,  but  that  it  was  a  beautiful  child 
who  could  not  stand  upright,  and  whose 
little  bare  body  ran  on  all-fours  like  a  baby 
wolf!  It  was  little  Ailbe,  the  wolf-mother's 
pet,  who  had  grown  so  fast  that  he  was 
almost  able  to  take  care  of  himself.  But  he 
was  not  quite  able,  the  hunter  thought ;  and 
he  said  to  himself  that  he  would  carry  the 
poor  little  thing  home  to  his  kind  wife,  that 
she  might  take  care  of  him.  So  he  caught 
Ailbe  up  in  his  arms,  kicking  and  squealing 
and  biting  like  the  wild  little  animal  he  was, 
and  wrapped  him  in  a  corner  of  his  great 
cloak.  Then  he  jumped  on  his  horse  with  a 
chirrup  and  galloped  away  out  of  the  woods 
towards  his  village. 

But  Ailbe  did  not  want  to  leave  his  forest 
home,  the  wolf-den,  and  his  little  wolf  bro- 
thers. Especially  he  did  not  want  to  leave 
his  dear  foster  mother.  So  he  screamed  and 
struggled  to  get  away  from  the  big  hunter, 
and  he  called  to  the  wolves  in  their  own 
language  to  come  and  help  him.  Then  out 
of  the  forest  came  bounding  the  great  mother 


SAINT  AILBE  193 

wolf  with  her  four  children,  now  grown  to 
be  nearly  as  big  as  herself.  She  chased  after 
the  fleeting  horse  and  snapped  at  the  loose 
end  of  the  huntsman's  cloak,  howling  with 
grief  and  anger.  But  she  could  not  catch 
the  thief,  nor  get  back  her  adopted  son,  the 
little  smooth-skinned  foundling.  So  after  fol- 
lowing them  for  miles,  the  five  wolves  grad- 
ually dropped  further  and  further  behind. 
And  at  last,  as  he  stretched  out  his  little  arms 
to  them  over  the  hunter's  velvet  shoulder, 
Ailbe  saw  them  stop  in  the  road  panting, 
with  one  last  howl  of  farewell.  They  had 
given  up  the  hopeless  chase.  And  with  their 
tails  between  their  legs  and  their  heads  droop- 
ing low  they  slunk  back  to  their  lonely  den 
where  they  would  never  see  their  little  boy 
playmate  any  more.  It  was  a  sad  day  for 
good  wolf-mother. 

But  the  hunter  carried  little  Ailbe  home 
with  him  on  the  horse's  back.  And  he  found 
a  new  mother  there  to  receive  him.  Ailbe 
never  knew  who  his  first  mother  was,  but 
she  must  have  been  a  bad,  cruel  woman. 
His  second  mother  was  tiie  kind  wolf.  And 
this  one,  the  third,  was  a  beautiful  Princess. 


i94    THE   WOLF-MOTHER  OF 

For  the  hunter  who  had  found  the  child  was 
a  Prince,  and  he  lived  in  a  grand  castle  by  a 
lake  near  Tipperary,  with  hundreds  of  ser- 
vants and  horses  and  dogs  and  little  pages 
for  Ailbe  to  play  with.  And  here  he  lived 
and  was  very  happy;  and  here  he  learned 
all  the  things  which  in  those  days  made  a 
little  boy  grow  up  into  a  wise  and  great  man. 
He  grew  up  so  wise  and  great  that  he  was 
made  a  Bishop  and  had  a  palace  of  his  own 
in  the  town  of  Emly.  People  came  to  see 
him  from  far  and  near,  who  made  him  pre- 
sents, and  asked  him  questions,  and  ate  his 
dinners. 

But  though  he  had  grown  so  great  and 
famous  Ailbe  had  never  forgotten  his  second 
mother,  the  good  wolf,  nor  his  four-footed 
brothers,  in  their  coats  of  gray  fur.  And 
sometimes  when  his  visitors  were  stupid"  and 
stayed  a  long  time,  or  when  they  asked  too 
many  questions,  or  when  they  made  him  pre- 
sents which  he  did  not  like,  Ailbe  longed 
to  be  back  in  the  forest  with  the  good  beasts. 
For  they  had  much  more  sense,  though  they 
had  never  kissed  the  Blarney  Stone,  which 
makes  one  talk  good  Irish. 


SAINT  AILBE  195 

A  great  many  years  afterwards  there  was 
one  day  a  huge  hunt  in  Emly.  All  the  lords 
for  miles  around  were  out  chasing  the  wild 
beasts,  and  among  them  was  the  Prince, 
Ailbe's  foster-father.  But  the  Bishop  him- 
self was  not  with  them.  He  did  not  see  any 
sport  in  killing  poor  creatures.  It  was  almost 
night,  and  the  people  of  Emly  were  out 
watching  for  the  hunters  to  return.  The 
Bishop  was  coming  down  the  village  street 
on  his  way  from  church,  when  the  sound  of 
horns  came  over  the  hills  close  by,  and  he 
knew  the  chase  was  nearing  home. 

Louder  and  louder  came  the  "tantara- 
tara !  "  of  the  horns,  and  then  he  could  hear 
the  gallopy  thud  of  the  horses'  hoofs  and  the 
yelp  of  the  hounds.  But  suddenly  the  Bish- 
op's heart  stood  still.  Among  all  the  other 
noises  of  the  chase  he  heard  a  sound  which 
made  him  think  —  think  —  think.  It  was 
the  long-drawn  howl  of  a  wolf,  a  sad  howl 
of  fear  and  weariness  and  pain.  It  spoke  a 
language  which  he  had  almost  forgotten. 
But  hardly  had  he  time  to  think  again  and 
to  remember,  before  down  the  village  street 
came  a  great  gaunt  figure,  flying  in  long 


i96     THE   WOLF-MOTHER  OF 

leaps  from  the  foremost  dogs  who  were  snap- 
ping at  her  heels.  It  was  Ailbe's  wolf-mother. 

He  recognized  her  as  soon  as  he  saw  her 
green  eyes  and  the  patch  of  white  on  her 
light  foreleg.  And  she  recognized  him,  too, 
—  how  I  cannot  say,  for  he  had  changed 
greatly  since  she  last  saw  him,  a  naked  little 
sunbrowned  boy.  But  at  any  rate,  in  his 
fine  robes  of  purple  and  linen  and  rich  lace, 
with  the  mitre  on  his  head  and  the  crozier 
in  his  hand,  the  wolf-mother  knew  her  dear 
son.  With  a  cry  of  joy  she  bounded  up  to 
him  and  laid  her  head  on  his  breast,  as  if  she 
knew  he  would  protect  her  from  the  growl- 
ing dogs  and  the  fierce-eyed  hunters.  And 
the  good  Bishop  was  true  to  her.  For  he 
drew  his  beautiful  velvet  cloak  about  her 
tired,  panting  body,  and  laid  his  hand  lov- 
ingly on  her  head.  Then  in  the  other  he 
held  up  his  crook  warningly  to  keep  back 
the  ferocious  dogs. 

"  I  will  protect  thee,  old  mother,"  he  said 
tenderly.  "  When  I  was  little  and  young 
and  feeble,  thou  didst  nourish  and  cherish 
and  protect  me ;  and  now  that  thou  art  old 
and  gray  and  weak,  shall  I  not  render  the 


SAINT   AILBE  197 

same  love  and  care  to  thee  ?  None  shall 
injure  thee." 

Then  the  hunters  came  tearing  up  on  their 
foaming  horses  and  stopped  short  to  find 
what  the  matter  was.  Some  of  them  were 
angry  and  wanted  even  now  to  kill  the  poor 
wolf,  just  as  the  dogs  did  who  were  prowling 
about  snarling  with  disappointment.  But 
Ail  be  would  have  none  of  it.  He  forbade 
them  to  touch  the  wolf.  And  he  was  so 
powerful  and  wise  and  holy  that  they  dared 
not  disobey  him,  but  had  to  be  content  with 
seeing  their  hunt  spoiled  and  their  prey  taken 
out  of  their  clutches. 

But  before  the  hunters  and  their  dogs 
rode  away,  Saint  Ailbe  had  something  more 
to  say  to  them.  And  he  bade  all  the  curious 
townsfolk  who  had  gathered  about  him  and 
the  wolf  to  listen  also.  He  repeated  the 
promise  which  he  had  made  to  the  wolf,  and 
warned  every  one  thenceforth  not  to  hurt  her 
or  her  children,  either  in  the  village,  or  in 
the  woods,  or  on  the  mountain.  And  turn- 
ing to  her  once  more  he  said :  — 

"See,  mother,  you  need  not  fear.  They 
dare  not  hurt  you  now  you  have  found  your 


198  SAINT  AILBE 

son  to  protect  you.  Come  every  day  with 
my  brothers  to  my  table,  and  you  and  yours 
shall  share  my  food,  as  once  I  so  often  shared 
yours." 

And  so  it  was.  Every  day  after  that  so 
long  as  she  lived  the  old  wolf-mother  brought 
her  four  children  to  the  Bishop's  palace  and 
howled  at  the  gate  for  the  porter  to  let  them 
in.  And  every  day  he  opened  to  them,  and 
the  steward  showed  the  five  into  the  great 
dining  hall  where  Ailbe  sat  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  with  five  places  set  for  the  rest  of 
the  family.  And  there  with  her  five  dear 
children  about  her  in  a  happy  circle  the  kind 
wolf-mother  sat  and  ate  the  good  things 
which  the  Bishop's  friends  had  sent  him. 
But  the  child  she  loved  best  was  none  of 
those  in  furry  coats  and  fine  whiskers  who 
looked  like  her ;  it  was  the  blue-eyed  Saint 
at  the  top  of  the  table  in  his  robes  of  purple 
and  white. 

But  Saint  Ailbe  would  look  about  him  at 
his  mother  and  his  brothers  and  would  laugh 
contentedly. 

"  What  a  handsome  family  we  are ! "  he 
would  say.  And  it  was  true. 


SAINT  RIGOBERT'S 
DINNER  t  t  t  t  t  $ 

SAINT  RIGOBERT  was  hungry.  He 
had  eaten  nothing  that  morning,  nei- 
ther had  little  Pierre,  his  serving  lad, 
who  trotted  along  before  him  on  the  road  to 
Rheims.  They  were  going  to  visit  Wibert, 
the  Deputy-Governor  of  Rheims,  to  pay  him 
some  money  which  the  Bishop  owed,  —  all 
the  money  which  he  had  in  the  world.  And 
that  is  why  they  had  nothing  left  to  buy 
them  a  breakfast,  and  why  little  Pierre  gazed 
into  the  bakers'  shops  so  hungrily  and  licked 
his  lips  as  they  passed.  Good  Saint  Rigobert 
did  not  see  the  windows  of  buns  and  tarts 
and  pasties  as  they  went  along,  for  his  eyes 
were  bent  upon  the  ground  and  he  was  sing- 
ing hymns  over  to  himself  under  his  breath. 
Still,  he  too  was  very  faint. 

Saint  Rigobert  was  poor.  He  was  a  good 
old  Bishop ;  but  the  King  of  France  did  not 
love  him,  and  had  sent  him  away  from  the 
court  and  the  big,  rich  city  to  live  among 
the  poor  folk  in  the  country.  Saint  Rigobert 
did  not  mind  this  very  much,  for  he  loved 


200     SAINT   RIGOBERT'S  DINNER 

the  pretty  little  village  of  Gernicour  where 
he  lived.  He  loved  the  people  who  dwelled 
there,  too;  and  especially  he  loved  Pierre, 
who  had  come  to  his  home  to  be  his  little 
page  and  helper. 

The  people  of  the  village  meant  to  be 
kind  and  generous;  but  they  were  mostly 
stupid  folk  who  saw  only  what  was  in  front 
of  their  noses.  And  they  did  not  guess  how 
very  poor  their  dear  Bishop  was.  They 
were  poor,  too,  and  had  to  be  careful  of 
their  little  bits  of  money.  But  they  all  had 
vegetables  and  milk  and  eggs  and  butter, 
and  if  every  one  had  helped  a  little,  as  they 
ought,  —  for  he  was  always  doing  kind  things 
for  them,  —  Saint  Rigobert  would  not  have 
gone  hungry  so  often. 

It  made  the  Bishop  sorry  to  find  them  so 
careless,  but  he  never  complained.  He 
would  not  tell  them,  nor  beg  them  to  help 
him,  and  often  even  little  Pierre  did  not 
know  how  long  he  fasted.  For  he  would 
give  the  boy  all  the  supper  and  keep  none 
himself.  But  he  was  always  cheery  and  con- 
tented. He  always  had  a  kind  word  for  the 
people  as  he  passed  them  on  the  street.  And 


SAINT   RIGOBERT'S   DINNER     201 

when  he  went  to  the  big  town  of  Rheims 
near  by  he  never  complained  to  the  Gov- 
ernor there  about  what  a  poor,  miserable 
parish  he  lived  in,  or  how  little  the  people 
of  Gernicour  did  for  their  Bishop.  For  he 
liked  to  believe  that  they  did  the  best  they 
could. 

And  that  is  why,  when  the  two  came  into 
Wibert's  hall,  Saint  Rigobert  paid  the  money 
to  the  Governor  without  a  word  of  his 
hunger  or  his  faintness.  And  even  when  he 
saw  the  great  table  laid  for  dinner  and  the 
smoking  dishes  brought  in  by  a  procession 
of  serving  men,  he  turned  away  resolutely 
and  tried  not  to  show  how  tempting  the 
good  things  looked  and  smelled.  He  gath- 
ered up  the  folds  of  his  robe,  and  taking  his 
Bishop's  staff  in  his  hand,  rose  to  go  back  to 
Gernicour  and  his  dinnerless  house.  But  as 
they  were  leaving  the  hall,  Pierre  trailing 
out  very  reluctantly  with  many  a  backward 
look,  Wibert  the  governor  called  them  back. 
Perhaps  he  had  seen  the  longing  in  the  eyes 
of  little  Pierre  as  the  great  haunch  of  venison 
was  set  on  the  board.  Perhaps  he  had  no- 
ticed how  pale  and  hollow  Saint  Rigobert's 


202     SAINT   RIGOBERT'S   DINNER 

cheeks  were,  and  half  guessed  the  cause.  At 
all  events  he  said  kindly :  — 

"  I  pray  thee,  stay  and  dine  with  us,  thou 
and  the  boy  yonder.  See,  the  meat  is  ready, 
and  there  is  room  for  many  more  at  table." 

But  Saint  Rigobert  had  a  service  to  hold 
in  the  church  at  Gernicour,  and  knew  they 
had  barely  time  to  reach  home  if  they  walked 
briskly.  Besides,  he  was  too  proud  to  accept 
charity,  and  for  the  sake  of  his  people  he  feared 
to  let  the  Governor  see  how  very  hungry  he 
was. 

"  Nay,"  he  answered  gently,"  I  thank  thee 
for  thy  courtesy,  friend  Wibert.  But  we 
may  not  tarry.  The  time  scants  us  for  a 
dinner  before  the  service  in  the  church  at 
Gernicour,  and  we  must  hasten  or  we  be  late. 
Come,  lad,  we  must  be  stirring  anon." 

Tears  of*  disappointment  were  standing  in 
Pierre's  eyes,  he  wanted  so  much  to  stay  and 
have  some  of  that  good  dinner.  But  he 
never  thought  of  questioning  his  master's 
commands.  The  Governor  pressed  them  to 
stay,  but  Rigobert  was  firm,  and  passed  on 
to  the  door,  Pierre  following  sulkily  behind. 
But  just  as  they  reached  the  door  there  was 


SAINT   RIGOBERT'S   DINNER     203 

a  commotion  outside,  and  the  sound  of 
quacking  and  men's  laughter.  And  there 
came  in  a  serving  man  bearing  in  his  arms 
a  great  white  goose,  which  was  flapping  his 
wings  and  cackling  hoarsely  in  fright. 

"  Ho,  what  have  we  here  ?  "  said  the  Gov- 
ernor crossly.  "Why  do  you  let  such  a 
commotion  into  my  hall,  you  fellow  *?  " 

"Please  you,  sir,"  answered  the  serving 
man  as  well  as  he  could  with  the  goose 
struggling  in  his  arms,  "  this  goose  is  a  tri- 
bute from  the  widow  Rene,  and  she  begs  your 
Honor  to  accept  him  as  a  poor  present." 

"A  poor  present  indeed,"  said  the  Gov- 
ernor testily.  "What  do  I  want  of  the 
creature  ?  We  have  more  fowls  now  than 
we  know  what  to  do  with.  I  wish  him  not" 
Then  an  idea  came  into  his  head,  and  he 
turned  to  Saint  Rigobert.  "  Why,  reverend 
sir,"  he  said  laughing,  "since  you  will  not 
stay  to  dine  with  me,  I  prithee  take  this  fat 
fellow  home  with  you,  for  dinner  in  Gerni- 
cour.  'T  will  be  a  good  riddance  for  us,  in 
sooth." 

Saint  Rigobert  hesitated.  But  seeing  the 
look  of  eagerness  in  Pierre's  face  he  con- 


204     SAINT   RIGOBERT'S   DINNER 

eluded  to  accept  the  gift,  which  was  a  com- 
mon one  enough  in  those  days. 

"Grammercy  for  your  courtesy,  Master 
Wibert,"  he  answered.  "  We  take  your 
bounty  of  the  fine  goose,  since  it  seemeth 
that  your  tables  have  space  for  little  more. 
Now  then,  Pierre  lad,  take  up  thy  prey. 
And  look  he  bite  thee  not,"  he  added  as  the 
boy  made  haste  to  seize  the  great  struggling 
bird. 

The  goose  pecked  and  squawked  and 
flapped  horribly  while  Pierre  was  getting  his 
arms  about  him.  But  finally  they  were  ready 
to  start,  Pierre  going  first  with  the  goose 
who  was  nearly  as  big  as  himself,  and  the 
Bishop  following  grasping  his  staff,  his  eyes 
bent  upon  the  ground. 

Pierre's  heart  was  full  of  joy.  He  chuckled 
and  laughed  and  could  hardly  wait  till  they 
should  reach  home,  for  thinking  of  the  fine 
dinner  at  the  end  of  the  road.  But  Saint  Rigo- 
bert  had  already  forgotten  the  goose,  he  had 
so  many  other  things  to  think  about.  That 
is  the  way  he  had  taught  himself  to  forget 
how  hungry  he  was  —  he  just  thought  about 
something  else.  But  all  on  a  sudden  Rigo- 


SAINT   RIGOBERT'S   DINNER     205 

bert  was  startled  by  a  great  cackle  and  a 
scream  in  front  of  him  down  the  road.  He 
looked  up  just  in  time  to  see  a  big  white 
thing  sailing  away  into  the  sky,  and  Pierre 
hopping  up  and  down  in  the  road  screaming 
and  crying. 

The  Bishop  overtook  the  little  fellow 
quickly.  "Lad,  lad,  hast  thou  lost  thy 
goose  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  Oh  Father,"  sobbed  the  boy,  "  our  nice 
dinner !  Your  dinner,  master !  The  wicked 
goose  has  flown  away.  Oh,  what  a  careless 
boy  I  am  to  let  him  'scape  me  so ! "  And 
he  sat  down  on  a  stone  and  cried  as  if  his 
heart  would  break. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  the  good  Bishop  said,  patting 
him  on  the  head  soothingly,  "perhaps  the 
poor  goose  did  not  want  to  be  roasted,  Pierre. 
Can  you  blame  him  for  seeking  his  liberty 
instead*?  I  find  no  fault  with  him;  but  I 
am  sorry  for  thy  dinner,  lad.  We  must  try 
to  get  something  else.  Cheer  up,  Pierre,  let 
the  white  goose  go.  All  will  yet  be  well, 
lad." 

He  made  Pierre  get  up,  still  crying  bit- 
terly, and  on  they  trudged  again  along  the 


206     SAINT   RIGOBERT'S  DINNER 

dusty  road.  But  this  time  there  was  no  din* 
ner  for  them  to  look  forward  to,  and  the  way 
seemed  very  long.  Pierre  dragged  his  feet 
heavily,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  go 
another  step  with  that  emptiness  in  his  stom- 
ach and  the  ache  in  his  head.  But  again  Saint 
Rigobert  began  to  hum  his  hymns  softly 
under  his  breath,  keeping  time  to  the  beat  of 
his  aged  feet  on  the  dusty  road.  The  loss 
of  his  dinner  seemed  to  trouble  him  little. 
Perhaps  he  was  secretly  glad  that  the  poor 
goose  had  escaped;  for  he  was  very  tender- 
hearted and  loved  not  to  have  creatures 
killed,  even  for  food. 

They  had  gone  quite  a  little  distance,  and 
Rigobert  began  to  sing  louder  and  louder 
as  they  neared  his  church.  When  suddenly 
there  came  a  strange  sound  in  the  air  over 
his  head.  And  then  with  a  great  fluttering 
a  big  white  goose  came  circling  down  right 
before  Saint  Rigobert's  feet.  The  good  Saint 
stopped  short  in  surprise,  and  Pierre,  turning 
about,  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes.  But 
sure  enough,  there  was  the  very  same  goose, 
looking  up  into  Saint  Rigobert's  face  and 
cackling  as  if  trying  to  tell  him  something. 


SAINT   RIGOBERT'S  DINNER     207 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  run  away,"  he  seemed 
to  say.  "  I  did  n't  know  you  were  hungry, 
holy  man,  and  that  I  was  taking  away  your 
dinner.  Sing  on  and  I  will  follow  you 
home." 

Pierre  turned  and  ran  back  to  the  goose 
and  would  have  seized  him  by  the  neck  so 
he  could  not  get  away  again.  But  Saint 
Rigobert  held  up  his  finger  warningly,  and 
the  boy  stood  still. 

"  Do  not  touch  him,  Pierre,"  said  the 
Bishop  earnestly.  "  I  do  not  think  he  will  run 
away.  Let  us  see." 

And  sure  enough,  when  they  started  on 
once  more,  Saint  Rigobert  still  singing  softly, 
Pierre,  who  kept  glancing  back,  saw  the 
goose  waddling  slowly  at  his  master's  heels. 
So  the  queer  little  procession  came  into 
Gernicour;  and  every  one  stopped  along  the 
streets  with  open  mouths,  wondering  to  see 
them  pass.  At  last  they  reached  the  Bish- 
op's house.  And  there  Rigobert  ceased  his 
singing,  and  turning  to  the  goose  stroked  his 
feathers  gently  and  said  :  — 

"  Good  friend,  thou  hast  been  faithful. 
Thou  shalt  be  rewarded.  Aye,  ruffle  up  thy 


2o8     SAINT   RIGOBERT'S  DINNER 

feathers,  good  goose,  for  they  shall  never  be 
plucked  from  thee,  nor  shalt  thou  be  cooked 
for  food.  Thou  art  my  friend  from  to-day. 
No  pen  shall  hold  thee,  but  thou  shalt  follow 
me  as  thou  wilt." 

And  the  Saint  kept  his  promise.  For 
after  that  the  goose  lived  with  him  in  hap- 
piness and  peace.  They  would  take  long 
walks  together  in  the  fields  about  Gernicour. 
They  made  visits  to  the  sick  and  the  sorrowful. 
Indeed,  wherever  Saint  Rigobert  went  the 
goose  followed  close  at  his  heels  like  a  dog. 
Even  when  Rigobert  went  again  to  see  the 
Governor  of  Rheims,  the  goose  waddled  all 
the  way  there  and  back  along  the  crooked 
road  over  part  of  which  he  had  gone  that 
first  time  in  little  Pierre's  arms.  And  how 
the  Governor  did  laugh  as  he  stood  in  his 
door  and  watched  the  strange  pair  disappear 
down  the  road. 

"He  could  not  have  been  very  hungry 
after  all,"  the  Governor  thought,  "  or  I  should 
never  have  seen  that  goose  again."  Which 
shows  how  little  even  a  Governor  knows 
about  some  things. 

More  than  this,  whenever  Rigobert  went  to 


SAINT   RIGOBERT'S   DINNER    209 

hold  service  in  his  little  church  the  goose 
escorted  him  there  also.  But  he  knew  better 
than  to  go  inside.  He  would  wait  by  the 
porch,  preening  his  feathers  in  the  sunshine 
and  snapping  bugs  in  the  grass  of  the  church- 
yard until  his  dear  master  came  out.  And 
then  he  would  escort  him  back  home  again. 
He  was  a  very  well-mannered  goose. 

But  dear  me  !  All  this  time  I  have  left 
poor  little  Pierre  standing  with  a  quivering 
chin  outside  the  Bishop's  door,  hopeless  of  a 
dinner.  But  it  all  came  right,  just  as  the 
Bishop  had  said  it  would.  I  must  tell  you 
about  that.  For  when  Rigobert  returned 
from  church  that  same  day  feeling  very  faint 
and  hungry  indeed,  after  the  long  walk  and 
the  excitement  of  the  goose-hap,  Pierre  came 
running  out  to  meet  him  with  a  smiling  face. 

"  Oh  Father,  Father !  "  he  cried.  "  We  are 
to  have  a  dinner,  after  all.  Come  quick,  I 
am  so  hungry  I  cannot  wait !  The  village 
folk  have  heard  about  the  pious  goose  who 
came  back  to  be  your  dinner,  and  how  you 
would  not  eat  him.  And  so  they  have  sent 
us  a  basket  of  good  things  instead.  And 
they  promise  that  never  again  so  long  as 


210    SAINT   RIGOBERT'S   DINNER 

they  have  anything  to  eat  themselves  shall 
we  be  hungry  any  more.  Oh  Father !  I  am 
so  glad  we  did  not  eat  the  goose." 

And  good  Saint  Rigobert  laid  his  hand  on 
Pierre's  head  and  said,  "'Dear  lad,  you  will 
never  be  sorry  for  showing  kindness  to  a 
friendly  bird  or  beast."  Then  the  goose 
came  quacking  up  to  them  and  they  all 
three  went  into  the  house  together  to  eat  their 
good,  good  dinner. 


SAINT    FRANCIS  OF 
ASSISI    ******* 

BAREFOOTED    in    the    snow,    bare- 
headed   in   the   rain,    Saint   Francis 
wandered   up  and  down   the  world 
smiling  for  the  great  love  that  was  in  his 
heart. 

And  because  it  grew  from  love  the  smile 
of  Saint  Francis  was  a  wonderful  thing.  It 
opened  the  hearts  of  men  and  coaxed  the 
secrets  of  their  thoughts.  It  led  human  folk 
whithersoever  Saint  Francis  willed.  It  drew 
the  beasts  to  his  side  and  the  birds  to  nestle 
in  his  bosom.  It  was  like  a  magic  charm. 

Great  princes  knew  his  smile  and  they 
obeyed  its  command  to  be  generous  and 
good.  The  sick  and  sorrowful  knew  his 
smile.  It  meant  healing  and  comfort.  Then 
they  rose  and  blessed  God  in  the  name  of 
Saint  Francis.  The  wretched  beggars  in  the 
streets  of  Assisi  knew  it.  To  them  the  smile 
of"  the  Lord's  own  beggar  "  meant  help  and 
sympathy.  Like  them  he  was  poor  and 
homeless,  often  ill  and  hungry.  They  won- 
dered that  he  could  smile.  But  he  said, 


212     SAINT  FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI 

"  It  does  not  become  a  servant  of  God  to 
have  an  air  of  melancholy  and  a  face  full  of 
trouble."  So  they  also  tried  to  smile,  poor 
fellows.  But  how  different  it  was  ! 

The  little  lambs  to  whom  he  gave  his 
special  protection  and  care  knew  the  smile 
of  Saint  Francis.  Once  he  met  two  woolly 
lambkins  who  were  being  carried  to  market. 
He  never  had  any  money,  but  taking  off  his 
cloak,  which  was  all  he  had  to  part  with,  he 
gave  it  to  buy  their  lives.  And  he  carried 
the  lambs  home  in  his  bosom. 

The  wilder  beasts  beyond  the  mountains, 
the  fierce  wolves  and  shy  foxes  of  Syria  and 
Spain  whom  he  met  in  his  wanderings  knew 
Saint  Francis.  Here  was  a  brother  who  was 
not  afraid  of  them  and  whom  they  could  trust 
in  return,  a  brother  who  understood  and 
sympathized.  The  birds  in  the  trees  knew 
also,  and  his  coming  was  the  signal  of  peace. 
Then  they  sang  with  Francis,  but  he  was  the 
sweetest  singer  of  them  all. 

Besides  these  living  things  the  green  fields 
of  Italy,  the  trees,  the  meadows,  the  brooks, 
the  flowers  all  knew  the  smile  of  Saint 
Francis.  It  meant  to  them  many  things 


SAINT   FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI     213 

which  only  a  poet  can  tell.   But  Francis  un- 
derstood, for  he  was  a  poet. 

Upon  all  alike  his  face  of  love  beamed 
tenderly.  For  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi  was  a 
little  brother  of  the  whole  great  world  and 
of  all  created  things.  Not  only  did  his  heart 
warm  to  Brother  Sheep  and  Sister  Bees,  to 
his  Brother  Fish  and  his  little  Sisters  the 
Doves,  but  he  called  the  Sun  and  Wind 
his  brothers  and  the  Moon  and  Water  his 
sisters.  Of  all  the  saints  about  whom  the 
legends  tell,  Francis  was  the  gentlest  and 
most  loving.  And  if 

" He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small," 

the  prayers  of  Saint  Francis  must  have  been 
very  dear  to  Him  who  "  made  and  loveth  all." 

There  was  none  so  poor  as  Francis.  Not 
a  penny  did  he  have,  not  a  penny  would  he 
touch.  Let  them  be  given  to  those  who 
could  not  smile,  he  said.  His  food  he  begged 
from  door  to  door,  broken  crusts  for  a  single 
poor  meal;  more  he  would  not  take.  His 
sleeping  place  was  the  floor  or  the  haymow, 
the  ruined  church,  whatever  lodging  chance 


2i4    SAINT   FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI 

gave  him.  Oftenest  he  slept  upon  the  bare 
ground  with  a  stone  for  his  pillow.  He 
wanted  to  be  poor  because  Christ  was  poor, 
and  he  was  trying  to  live  like  his  Master. 

In  his  coarse  brown  gown,  tied  about  the 
waist  with  a  rope,  without  hat  or  shoes  he 
wandered  singing,  smiling.  The  love  which 
beamed  from  him  like  radiance  from  a  star 
shone  back  from  every  pair  of  eyes  which 
looked  into  his  own.  For  all  the  world  loved 
Francis  in  the  time  of  the  Crusades.  And 
even  to-day,  seven  hundred  years  since  that 
dear  beggar  passed  cheerily  up  and  down  the 
rough  Italian  roads,  —  even  to-day  there  are 
many  who  love  him  like  a  lost  elder  brother. 

Saint  Francis  preached  to  all  lessons  of 
charity  and  peace.  His  were  simple  words,  for 
he  had  not  the  wisdom  of  many  books.  But 
he  knew  the  book  of  the  human  heart  from 
cover  to  cover.  His  words  were  like  fire, 
they  warmed  and  wakened.  No  one  could 
resist  the  entreaty  and  the  love  that  was  in 
them.  So  thousands  joined  the  Society  of 
Little  Brothers  of  which  he  was  the  founder, 
and  became  his  helpers  in  works  of  charity 
and  holiness. 


SAINT  FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI     215 

His  church  was  out  of  doors  in  the  beau- 
tiful world  that  he  loved,  in  mountain,  field, 
or  forest,  wherever  he  happened  to  be  wan- 
dering. Sometimes  he  preached  by  the 
candle-light  of  stars.  Often  the  cloistering 
trees  along  the  roadside  made  his  chapel,  and 
the  blue  sky  was  the  only  roof  between  him 
and  heaven.  Often  his  choir  was  of  the  bro- 
ther birds  in  the  branches  and  his  congrega- 
tion a  group  of  brother  beasts.  For  he 
preached  to  them  also  who,  though  they 
spoke  a  different  language,  were  yet  children 
of  his  Father.  And  in  his  little  talks  to  them 
he  always  showed  the  courtesy  which  one 
brother  owes  another. 

Once,  on  returning  from  a  journey  beyond 
the  sea,  he  was  traveling  through  the  Vene- 
tian country,  when  he  heard  a  great  congre- 
gation of  birds  singing  among  the  bushes. 
And  he  said  to  his  companion,  "  Our  sisters, 
the  birds,  are  praising  their  Maker.  Let 
us  then  go  into  their  midst  and  sing."  So 
they  did  this,  and  the  birds  did  not  fly  away 
but  continued  to  sing  so  loudly  that  the 
brothers  could  not  hear  each  other.  Then 
Saint  Francis  turned  to  the  birds  and  said 


ai6     SAINT  FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI 

politely,  "Sisters,  cease  your  song  until  we 
have  rendered  our  bounden  praise  to  God.'! 
So  the  birds  were  still  until  the  brothers  had 
finished  their  psalm.  But  after  that  when  it 
was  again  their  turn  the  birds  went  on  with 
their  song. 

At  another  time  when  he  was  preaching 
in  the  town  of  Alvia  among  the  hills,  the 
swallows  flew  about  and  twittered  so  loudly 
that  the  people  could  not  hear  Saint  Francis' 
voice.  The  birds  did  not  mean  to  be  rude, 
however.  So  he  turned  to  the  swallows  and 
saluted  them  courteously.  "  My  sisters,"  he 
said,  "  it  is  now  time  that  I  should  speak. 
Since  you  have  had  your  say,  listen  now  in 
your  turn  to  the  word  of  God  and  be  silent 
till  the  sermon  is  finished."  And  again  the 
birds  obeyed  the  smile  and  the  voice  of  him 
who  loved  them.  Though  whether  they  un- 
derstood the  grown-up  sermon  that  followed 
I  cannot  tell. 

But  this  is  the  little  sermon  which  he  made 
one  day  for  a  congregation  of  birds  who  sat 
around  him  in  the  bushes  listening. 

"Brother  Birds,  greatly  are  ye  bound  to 


SAINT   FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI     217 

praise  the  Creator  who  clotheth  you  with 
feathers  and  giveth  you  wings  to  fly  with 
and  a  purer  air  to  breathe ;  and  who  careth 
for  you  who  have  so  little  care  for  your- 
selves." 

It  was  not  a  long  sermon,  so  the  birds 
could  not  have  grown  tired  or  sleepy,  and  I 
am  sure  they  understood  every  word.  So 
after  he  had  given  them  his  blessing  he  let 
them  go,  and  they  went  singing  as  he  had 
bidden  them. 

Saint  Francis  preached  the  lessons  of 
peace ;  he  would  not  have  cruelty  or  blood- 
shed among  his  human  friends.  And  he  also 
taught  his  beasts  to  be  kind.  He  loved  best 
the  gentle  lambs,  one  of  which  was  almost 
always  with  him,  and  in  his  sermons  he  would 
point  to  them  to  show  men  what  their  lives 
should  be.  But  there  is  a  story  told  of  the 
lesson  he  taught  a  wolf  that  shows  what  power 
the  Saint  had  over  the  fiercer  animals.  There 
are  many  stories  of  wolves  whom  the  saints 
made  tame.  But  this  wolf  of  Saint  Francis 
was  the  most  terrible  of  them  all. 

This  huge  and  savage  wolf  had  been  caus- 


ai8     SAINT   FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI 

ing  great  horror  to  the  people  of  Gubbio. 
For  in  the  night  he  not  only  stole  sheep  and 
cows  from  the  farms,  but  he  came  and  car- 
ried off  men  also  for  his  dinner.  So  that  peo- 
ple were  afraid  to  go  out  of  the  town  for  fear 
of  being  gobbled  up. 

Now  Saint  Francis  came.  And  he  said,  "  I 
will  go  out  and  seek  this  wolf."  But  the 
townsfolk  begged  him  not  to  go,  for  the  good 
man  was  dear  to  them  and  they  feared  never 
to  see  him  again.  However,  he  was  resolved 
and  went  forth  from  the  gate. 

He  had  gone  but  a  little  way  when  out 
rushed  the  wolf  to  meet  him,  with  his  mouth 
wide  open,  roaring  horribly.  Then  Saint 
Francis  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  said 
gently:  — 

"  Come  hither,  Brother  Wolf.  I  command 
thee  in  Christ's  behalf  that  thou  do  no  evil  to 
me  nor  to  any  one."  And  wonderful  to  say ! 
The  wolf  grew  tame  and  came  like  a  lamb 
to  lie  at  Saint  Francis'  feet. 

Then  Francis  went  on  to  rebuke  him,  say- 
ing that  he  deserved  to  be  hung  for  his  many 
sins,  being  a  robber  and  a  wicked  murderer 
of  men  and  beasts. 


SAINT  FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI     219 

"  But  I  wish,  Brother  Wolf,"  he  said,  "  to 
make  peace  between  thee  and  men ;  therefore 
vex  them  no  more  and  they  will  pardon  thee 
all  thy  past  offenses,  and  neither  dogs  nor 
men  will  chase  thee  any  more." 

At  this  the  wolf  wagged  his  tail  and  bowed 
his  head  to  show  he  understood.  And  putting 
his  right  paw  in  the  hand  of  Saint  Francis  he 
promised  never  again  to  steal  nor  slay.  Then 
like  a  gentle  dog  he  followed  the  holy  man 
to  the  market-place  of  the  town,  where  great 
crowds  of  people  had  gathered  to  see  what 
Saint  Francis  would  do  with  the  great  beast, 
their  enemy,  for  they  thought  he  was  to  be 
punished.  But  Francis  rose  and  said  to 
them:  — 

"Hearken,  dear  brethren:  Brother  Wolf 
who  is  here  before  you  has  promised  me  that 
he  will  make  peace  with  you  and  will  never 
injure  you  in  any  way,  if  ye  promise  to  give 
him  day  by  day  what  is  needful  for  his  dinner. 
And  I  will  be  surety  for  him."  Thereupon 
with  a  great  shout  all  the  people  promised 
to  give  him  his  daily  food.  Again  the  wolf 
wagged  his  tail,  flapped  his  long  ears,  bowed 
his  head,  and  gave  his  paw  to  Saint  Francis 


220     SAINT   FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI 

to  show  that  he  would  keep  his  word.  All 
the  people  saw  him  do  this.  And  then  there 
were  shouts  of  wonder  you  may  be  sure,  and 
great  rejoicing  because  Saint  Francis  had 
saved  them  from  this  cruel  beast,  and  had 
made  a  gentle  friend  of  their  dreaded  enemy. 
So  after  this  the  wolf  lived  two  years  at 
Gubbio  and  went  about  from  door  to  door 
humbly  begging  his  food  like  Saint  Francis 
himself.  He  never  harmed  any  one,  not  even 
the  little  children  who  teased  and  pulled  him 
about.  But  all  the  people  loved  him  and 
gave  him  what  he  liked  to  eat;  and  not  even 
a  dog  would  bark  at  his  heels  or  growl  at  the 
friend  of  Saint  Francis.  So  he  lived  to  a 
good  old  age.  And  when  after  two  years 
Brother  Wolf  died  because  he  was  so  old, 
the  citizens  were  very  sorrowful.  For  not 
only  did  they  miss  the  soft  pat-pat  of  his  steps 
passing  through  the  city,  but  they  grieved 
for  the  sorrow  of  Saint  Francis  in  losing  a 
kindly  friend,  —  Saint  Francis  of  whose  saint- 
liness  and  power  the  humble  beast  had  been 
a  daily  reminder. 

Francis  could  not  bear  to  see  a  little  bro- 


SAINT   FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI     221 

ther  in  trouble  or  pain,  and  this  the  beasts 
knew  very  well.  He  would  not  willingly 
tread  upon  an  insect,  but  would  step  aside 
and  gently  bid  the  Brother  Worm  depart  in 
peace.  The  fish  which  a  fisherman  gave  him 
he  restored  to  the  water,  where  it  played 
about  his  boat  and  would  not  leave  him  till 
he  bade  it  go. 

Once  again  in  the  village  of  Gubbio  a  live 
baby  hare  was  brought  him  as  a  present,  for 
his  breakfast.  But  when  Francis  saw  the 
frightened  look  of  the  little  creature  held  in 
the  arms  of  one  of  the  brothers,  his  heart 
ached  with  sympathy. 

"  Little  Brother  Leveret,  come  to  me,"  he 
said.  "  Why  hast  thou  let  thyself  be  taken  *?  " 
And  the  little  fellow  as  if  understanding  the 
invitation  jumped  out  of  the  friar's  arms  and 
ran  to  Francis,  hiding  in  the  folds  of  his 
gown.  But  when  Francis  took  it  out  and  set 
it  free,  very  politely  giving  it  permission  to 
depart  instead  of  staying  to  make  a  breakfast, 
it  would  not  go.  Again  and  again  it  returned 
nestling  to  its  new-found  friend,  as  if  guessing 
that  here  at  least  it  would  be  safe  forever. 
But  at  last  tenderly  Saint  Francis  sent  the 


222     SAINT   FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI 

good  brother  away  with  it  into  the  wood, 
where  it  was  safe  once  more  among  its  little 
bob-tailed  brothers  and  sisters. 

Now  after  a  life  spent  like  Christ's  in  works 
of  poverty,  charity,  and  love,  Saint  Francis 
came  at  last  to  have  one  spot  in  the  world 
which  he  could  call  his  own.  It  was  neither 
a  church  nor  a  convent,  a  cottage  nor  even  a 
cell.  It  was  only  a  bare  and  lonely  mountain 
top  where  wild  beasts  lived  and  wild  birds 
had  a  home.  This  retreat  in  the  wilderness 
was  the  gift  which  Orlando,  a  rich  nobleman, 
chose  to  make  Saint  Francis.  And  it  was  a 
precious  gift  indeed,  sorely  needed  by  the 
Lord's  weary  beggar.  For  he  was  worn  with 
wandering;  he  was  ill  and  weak,  and  his 
gentle  eyes  were  growing  dim  so  that  he 
could  not  go  along  the  winding  ways.  But 
he  was  happy  still. 

So  one  warm  September  day  he  went  with 
some  of  his  chosen  brethren  to  take  posses- 
sion of  their  new  home.  They  left  the  vil- 
lages, the  farms,  and  at  last  even  the  scattered 
shepherds'  huts  far  below  and  behind  them, 
and  came  into  the  quiet  of  the  Italian  hills. 


SAINT   FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI     223 


SAINT  FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI 

They  climbed  and  climbed  over  the  rocks 
and  along  the  ravines,  till  they  came  in  sight 
of  the  bald  summit  where  Francis  was  to 
dwell.  And  here  in  happy  weariness  he 


224    SAINT  FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI 

paused  to  rest  under  an  oak-tree  and  look 
about  upon  the  beautiful  scene. 

But  suddenly  the  air  was  filled  with  music, 
a  chorus  of  trills  and  quavers  and  carols  of 
the  wildest  joy.  Then  the  air  grew  dark  with 
whirring  wings.  The  birds  of  the  mountain 
were  coming  from  everywhere  to  welcome 
home  their  brother.  They  flew  to  him  by 
hundreds,  perching  on  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders ;  and  when  every  other  spot  was  covered 
they  twittered  into  the  hood  of  his  brown 
mantle.  The  brothers  stood  about,  wonder- 
ing greatly,  although  they  had  seen  Saint 
Francis  in  some  such  plight  before.  But  the 
peasant  who  led  the  ass  which  had  brought 
Saint  Francis  so  far  stood  like  one  turned  to 
stone,  unable  to  believe  his  eyes.  Here  was 
a  miracle  the  like  of  which  he  had  never 
dreamed. 

But  Saint  Francis  was  filled  with  gladness. 
"  Dearest  brethren,"  he  said,  "  I  think  it  must 
be  pleasant  to  our  Lord  that  we  should  dwell 
in  this  solitary  place,  since  our  brothers  and 
sisters  the  birds  are  so  glad  of  our  coming." 

And  indeed,  how  could  they  help  being 
glad  of  his  coming,  the  dear,  kind  Saint? 


SAINT   FRANCIS   OF  ASSISI     225 

And  how  they  hovered  around  the  shelter  of 
branches  which  the  brethren  built  for  him 
under  a  beech-tree  on  the  very  mountain  top ! 
One  can  picture  them  at  morning,  noon,  and 
night  joining  in  his  songs  of  praise,  or  keeping 
polite  silence  while  the  holy  man  talked  with 
God. 

Many  wonderful  things  happened  upon 
the  Monte  Alverno  while  Saint  Francis  dwelt 
there.  But  none  were  more  wonderful  than 
the  great  love  of  Francis  himself;  his  love 
which  was  so  big  and  so  wide  that  it  wrapped 
the  whole  round  world,  binding  all  creatures 
more  closely  in  a  common  brotherhood. 

So  that  every  man  and  every  bird  and 
every  beast  that  lives  ought  to  love  the  name 
of  that  dear  Saint,  their  childlike,  simple, 
happy  little  brother,  Saint  Francis  of  Assisi. 

s»  &  &> 

HERE 

THE  BOOK  OF  SAINTS 
&  FRIENDLY  BEASTS 

ENDS 


A   CALENDAR    * 

Here  follow  the  Days  of 

the  Saints  and  their 

Beasts 


Jan.  4. 
Jan.  13. 
Jan.  14. 
Jan.  18. 
Jan.  19. 
Feb.  i. 

Feb.  3. 

Feb.  9. 
Feb.  14. 
March  5. 
March  20. 
April  14. 
May  10. 
June  6. 
June  18. 
August  l. 
Sept.  l. 
Sept.  12. 
Oct.  4. 


Saint  Rigobert. 
Saint  Kentigern. 
Saint  Felix. 
Saint  Prisca. 
Saint  Launomar. 
Saint  Bridget. 
Saint  Werburgh. 
Saint  Blaise. 
Saint  Athracta. 
Saint  Berach. 
Saint  Gerasimus. 
Saint  Cuthbert. 
Saint  Fronto. 
Saint  Comgall. 
Saint  Gudwall. 
Saint  Herve. 
Saint  Keneth. 
Saint  Giles. 
Saint  Ailbe. 
Saint  Francis. 


EibersOie 

ELECTROTYPED    AND     PRINTED 

BY    H.  O.  HOUGHTON   &   CO. 

CAMBRIDGE,   MASS. 

U.   S.   A. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000122463     3 


